Great Awakenings
by resourceful
Summary: Billy Melrose sets Scarecrow and Mrs. King on the path to temptation when he sends them uncover as husband and wife to an old-fashion camp meeting revival. With Lee way outside his comfort zone, Amanda must keep them both on message as they try to identify and stop religious terrorists.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Great Awakenings**

**Author: **Resourceful

**Timeline: **In between season two and season three - Summer 1985

**Rating: **PG13

**Disclaimer**: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the property of Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon. I make no profit from my story.

**Credits: **References are made to the following SMK episodes: "The First Time", Magic Bus, "Sudden Death","The Long Christmas Eve", "The Mole", "Weekend", "Charity Begins at Home", "A Little Sex, A Little Scandal", "A Relative Situation", "Times They Are A Changin", "Ship of Spies", "Vigilante Mothers", "Over the Limit", and "Unfinished Business".

**Author's Notes:** I spent the past year making many additions and revisions to a story that I wrote in 2006. It was never posted to this fan fiction site or archived anywhere. I offer many thanks to my betas. Vikki provided her expertise for the original version of the story, and Anne shared her creative talents for the revised version.

The references in the prologue to religious violence in Beirut, Lebanon, and Guyana, South America are historical events.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue and Chapter 1<strong>

**Prologue: Portents of Doom**

The glory days were in the past for the Cumberland Hotel, but the "old girl" was not completely useless. Today she was called upon to host a meeting of national importance. Concealed by the drab façade of decaying camouflage, the imposing structure was completely unremarkable to those outside the intelligence community.

Billy Melrose respectfully entered the inner circle of government officials. Invited by the new Agency director, Austin Smyth, he joined the upper echelon of national power, including representatives from the Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Council, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Silently taking his seat, Melrose turned his attention to the Vice President of the United States, who'd already brought the meeting to order.

"Religious violence is a growing problem around the world and threatens Americans at home and abroad," the Vice President stated emphatically. "As a former United States Congressman and past director of the Central Intelligence Agency, I've followed the activities of religious extremists for decades. The tragic bombing of the Marine Barracks in Beirut, Lebanon in 1983 is a case in point. A 12,000 pound bomb destroyed the United States compound, killing two hundred and forty-two Americans. Islamic Jihad claimed responsibility."

Seated around a massive mahogany table, the dignitaries nodded their heads in somber recognition of the horrific event.

Pausing to take a sip of water, the Vice President continued his cautionary address. "Let us never forget our own home-grown tragedy. In 1978, nine hundred and nine followers of Jim Jones died in a jungle encampment in Guyana, South America."

Bracing his hands on the podium, the Vice President studied his riveted audience. "You may recall that Jones formed his church, the Peoples Temple, during the 1950s in Indiana. The religious leader's beliefs were rooted in Biblical teachings, and his practices resembled Christian faith-healing revivals. However, the charismatic but erratic Jones eventually added Communist views to his ideology, so his ministry became too controversial to continue in Indiana.

"Moving to California in 1965, Reverend Jones and his group won respect for forming soup kitchens, starting clothing banks, and helping the poor find jobs. However, over time, Jones fell into disfavor again. Therefore, in 1976, the Peoples Temple fled San Francisco for Guyana, South America to establish a utopian society known as Jonestown."

"Conditions in the new community were unbearable, and the followers soon despised their new location. As the discontent grew among the group, Jones resorted to torture and mind control to keep his people from leaving. When word of abuse reached relatives in the United States, Congressman Leo Ryan and reporters went to investigate. Their arrival ended in tragedy. The congressman and three members of the media were shot to death by Jonestown's armed guards, and Jones' disciples died after he ordered them to drink a fruit-flavored punch laced with cyanide and tranquilizers. Jim Jones was later found dead from a probable self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head."

A heavy stillness settled over the room as the Vice President allowed the painful recollection to weigh upon the audience. "Religious terrorism is a major concern for our government. The full power of the White House stands behind our efforts to confront fanatical religious groups that cross the line into violence. To help us understand potential threats, we've engaged the cooperation of the faith communities."

As the listeners nodded their approval, the Vice President turned his attention to three civilian guests who'd been carefully screened for the meeting. "We have several respected religious leaders from the Washington D.C. Interfaith Council with us today. Allow me to introduce Reverend Elizabeth Noble, Rabbi Benjamin Tannenbaum, and Imam Abdullah Ben Ahmed Al-Razi." Like the intelligence community, they are working to prevent religious violence. "Welcome," he said, nodding to the trio. By way of introduction, I've asked each of them to say a few words."

Reverend Noble, her silver cross shining against the dark fabric of her dress, spoke first. "I'm sure I express the sentiments of my friends on the council when I say we are honored to be included today. While we may travel different paths toward God, we work together to help those in need and to promote understanding among the diverse religious groups. As spiritual leaders, each of us has been victimized by prejudice."

Rabbi Tannenbaum, dressed in a typical suit and tie, rose to speak. Only the yarmulke, resting firmly against his skull, announced his faith. "Whether we know the supreme being as Yahweh, or God, or Allah is not the key issue for our group," he said. "Each of us desires good will among the various faith communities and with the larger secular community. However, in recent months synagogues have been targeted by harassment."

"Intimidation of Muslims has also increased." A rounded Kufi cap identified the Islamic faith of the Imam . With folded hands, the gentleman nodded to the gathering. "The Prophet Muhammad taught belief in Allah, the Quran, fasting, prayer, and charity. Like the adherents of other religions who seek to worship as they choose, Muslims desire the freedom to practice Islam and live in peace."

"What about Jihad?" Dr. Smyth said, clearly bowing to no one. "Some radical Muslims seem mighty cozy with the Grim Reaper."

"Jihad means to struggle," the Imam responded calmly. "The Islamic faith involves an inward spiritual struggle to become closer to Allah. Acts of terror are abominable to most Muslims."

The Agency director eyed the clerics with his blatant air of superiority. "I assure you, there's plenty of blame to go around. All of the major religions leave a bloody trail in their wake. Even as we speak, unholy acts are rampant in the Holy Land and Northern Ireland. And history doesn't look kindly on the ruthless Crusades and the Inquisitions."

The religious leaders endured the flagrant accusations with stoic silence.

Dr. Smyth's blue eyes flashed with a clear reprimand. "Tsk, tsk. Pardon my irreverence. Unfortunately there are no visions of sugarplums dancing in the heads of children tutored at the knees of overly pious parents. All your holy books provide rather gruesome bedtime stories, don't you agree?"

Peering over the top of his reading glasses, Rabbi Tannenbaum challenged Dr. Smyth's sweeping judgment. "Jewish children are taught many moral practices from the Torah. Certainly the Ten Commandments represent a superior model for living."

"Ah, yes," Smyth said with a Cheshire grin. "Let's not forget the Almighty's famous 'thou shall not kill' commandment. However, all the hassles over the Promised Land have resulted in rather messy battles to claim real estate, wouldn't you say?"

"Please excuse me, Dr. Smyth." Reverend Noble rose to address the Agency's unapologetic cynic. "I also take exception to your statements. For Christians, Jesus' ministry and teachings trump the violent narratives found elsewhere in the Bible."

"Touché," Smyth acknowledged with a mock salute. "Chalk one up for 'Miss Everything Nice'. Unfortunately, Jesus, the peacemaker, bumped up against the Roman government and the Jewish authorities. He was even betrayed by one of his own disciples and condemned to a very violent death. Crucifixion is a nasty way to die, is it not?"

The Vice President raised a critical brow at the obtrusive Agency chief. "Dr. Smyth's skeptical remarks may have crossed the line of civil discourse, so let me stress that no rebuke is being directed at any particular faith tradition. We're primarily concerned with violent extremist factions."

Billy shifted his bulk and prepared to address the group. His instincts told him something significant would be landing in his lap. "Are there immediate threats of religious terrorism that could compromise the security of the United States?"

Elizabeth Noble passed around some pamphlets. "Printed flyers have been finding their way into the pews of local churches." In bold red letters the leaflet proclaimed, "The End is Near."

Billy shrugged. "Prophets and preachers have been proclaiming the end times for thousands of years. What makes this particular warning stand out?"

Carefully unfolding the brochure, Elizabeth held it up for all to see. "Please note the highlighted area on the inside cover. It states, 'the Lord will pour His wrath upon the seat of government, and calamity will crush the leaders of an evil society. The marble grandeur of political power will lie in ruin, and only the true Christian believers will be saved."

"That's a rather ambiguous threat," Melrose said. "Monuments, federal buildings, and politicians in Washington, D.C. could all be targeted." Billy reached for his antacids as his gut tightened in protest. It would be a fiasco if he had to order Stetson and Desmond to tangle with the overtly self-righteous. "Are fanatics planning to hasten the end times?"

"You've seen the light, Melrose," Dr. Smyth replied. "We may have a budding Armageddon brewing in the shadows of the nation's capital, or we may have one more crackpot flexing his spiritual muscles."

"Who exactly is spreading the propaganda?" Billy volleyed back.

"The leaflets have shown up in various religious services," Reverend Noble replied. "They seem to be the work of an evangelist from West Virginia - Jeremiah Armstrong."

An FBI agent produced a dossier. "According to my information, Jeremiah Armstrong is a self-proclaimed minister. He has a mail-order certificate of ordination, but no formal training from an accredited theological seminary. Apparently he was a lay member in the congregation called 'The True Church of God'.' When he had a falling out with the other members, he went on to establish his own congregation - 'The Only True Church of God'."

Pressing her hands flat against the table, Elizabeth Noble continued in earnest. "Our concern is magnified because Brother Armstrong has taken his message on the road. For three months of every year he's a traveling evangelist. This year he has zeroed in on the greater Washington, D.C. area."

"Yes," Rabbi Tannenbaum added, "but the propaganda is not only aimed at Christians. Jeremiah Armstrong's anti-Semitic literature has made its way into local synagogues."

The Imam held up another leaflet. "Muslims have also been targeted with proclamations of doom."

Billy scanned the faces of the government officials. "Unfortunately, the intelligence community doesn't have the manpower to keep tabs on every religious fanatic. Is there more to go on than printed threats?"

"Nothing definite," an ATF agent replied. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms found a cache of explosives on the properties of some of Armstrong's church members. Even with that, it's a little early to shut down the spiritual sideshow."

"Well, kiddies," Dr. Smyth said, wagging a finger at his captive audience. "I detect more than one doubting Thomas in the group. Try wrapping an even bigger concern in your prayer shawls, folks. The Army recently reported the theft of explosives from an armory in Baltimore. Some of the devices are already showing up in Virginia.

Reverend Noble's face was etched with alarm. "Your revelation about stolen explosives has me second guessing a recent incident with a parishioner's vacation cabin, not far from Jeremiah Armstrong's camp meetings."

All eyes turned toward the minister as she continued. "Hattie Henderson, from Arlington, Virginia, was critically injured in a suspicious fire at her vacation home. In fact, she lies comatose in a hospital at this very moment.

"The incident was in my daily briefing today," Billy added. "Officially, the explosion is still under investigation as is a suspicious fire."

"You need to understand," the reverend continued, "Miss Henderson is a very feisty senior citizen. The preacher's threatening pamphlets prompted Hattie to disrupt the revival and give Reverend Armstrong a piece of her mind."

Billy's instincts went on high alert. "So, you think she provoked the anger of the camp meeting crowd?"

"Absolutely," Reverend Noble said with firm conviction. "However, after she visited the campgrounds, her behavior became very erratic. Hattie's closest friend spotted her walking around the Washington Mall. Not only did Miss Henderson fail to respond to a greeting, but she was wearing a backpack. When the friend teased her about the new fashion statement, Hattie grew very agitated and hurried away."

The Vice President's brow furrowed with concern. "Given the new insights today, we need to step up our efforts against potential terrorist attacks. Austin, may I assume you agree?"

Dr. Smyth's expression gave nothing away. Opening a small silver case, he carefully removed and lit a cigarette. Taking a long draw, he exhaled between clenched teeth. "If the final trumpet sounds, boys and girls, we'd better not be caught sleeping. It's time to put our spiritual house in order."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Agency<strong>

Billy Melrose plowed through the double doors of the Agency's Field Section and acknowledged his staff with an uncharacteristic pleasantry. "It's a bee-u-ti-ful day in D.C., people." The chipper façade turned the heads of everyone present, producing more raised eyebrows than smiling faces.

Every agent, from seasoned professional to raw rookie, knew something was up. Like an aura before a migraine, Billy's effusive greeting acted as an unwelcome precursor to a dreaded assignment.

Pushing his hefty weight against the door to his office, Melrose paused for one more comment. "Stetson, Desmond, in my office, now," he bellowed, before disappearing into his private sanctum.

Lee sighed heavily, reluctantly removing his legs from his cluttered desk. "Oh, no, what now?"

"Let's hope it's not more spring cleaning." Francine set aside the daily briefing they'd been perusing. "He acts down right perky when he's ready to drop the despicable chore in our laps."

Lee's long stride propelled him across the room in time to hold the door for his female colleague. "This better not be some rookie 'chicken-feed' assignment," he mumbled, already in a bad mood.

Billy propped his hip on the corner of his desk. "Listen up, you two. I just came from a high level meeting. Our new Agency director has given field section a top priority assignment."

"His Excellency, Dr. Austin Smyth, has handed down a decree," Francine mocked with an exaggerated bow. "And we haven't given him a royal welcome yet."

Lee grinned at her antics. "Someone ought to give Dr. Smyth a crash course in espionage. He probably won his job in a late-night, Pennsylvania Avenue poker game."

"All right, can it, both of you." Billy's scowl deepened as he shot his top agents a look of warning. "Austin Smyth wasn't my first choice for Agency director, either. His rudeness, arrogance, and toughness will grate on everyone. However, he knows the intelligence community, and he's well-connected with Washington insiders. The Agency can benefit from a man of his caliber."

"Sorry, sir," Francine apologized, nudging Lee with an elbow. "We're all ears."

"What's up, Billy?" Lee crossed his arms and leaned his tall body against the window frame.

"Scarecrow, I need you to brush up on your religious fervor. You'll be going to a revival."

"What?" Feeling the blood drain from his face, Lee stared back, dumbfounded. Surely Billy wouldn't make him participate in some spiritual circus. "Come again."

"You heard me correctly, Stetson. I want you to keep tabs on a zealot who's preaching threats against the government. You'll be going undercover as a religious fundamentalist."

"Oh, for this, I'd sell tickets," Francine said with an unladylike snort.

Lee shot his female counterpart a poisonous look. "No, Billy, absolutely not. You know damn well I can't fit in with religious fanatics."

Melrose braced his arms on the desk and leaned close to his agent's face. "Your full scale squirming will not excuse you from the case, Scarecrow, so bag the tirade right now."

"Billy, why do you need me? I don't do religion."

"I just want you to observe, Scarecrow. I don't expect you to convert. If I was going to proselytize you, I'd take you to an Easter Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. Besides, Lee, you did a great job in Germany posing as a priest."

"Well, I'm not a trained actor, so don't expect me to cozy up to Elmer Gantry."

"Jeremiah Armstrong," Billy corrected.

"Whoever, I'm not going to sit still for hellfire and brimstone."

"What's the matter, Stetson? Don't you believe in freedom of religion?" Francine was clearly enjoying his predicament.

Lee glared back at her as he paced between his colleagues. "Freedom from religion is more accurate in my case."

Billy was clearly out of patience. "Look, Scarecrow, I don't care if you're an atheist, agnostic, or merely a backslider. Your faith or lack of faith is strictly your business. However, I fully expect you to set aside your animosity today and conduct yourself with unbiased professionalism."

Lee lowered his head, the tic of his clenched jaw pulsating with barely controlled frustration. "Fine, just fine, but I expect 'Ms. Self-Righteous' here to partner with me on the mission. If I have to fake religion, I don't want to be the only hypocrite."

"How noble of you, Stetson. Thanks, but no thanks." Francine inched away from him like he carried the Bubonic Plague.

"Humph," Billy grunted. "The two of you at a camp meeting will not happen on my watch. That has catastrophe written all over it. Besides, Francine will have her hands full investigating threats to other faith communities."

"Well, I'm certainly not facing judgment and condemnation by myself." Lee reached out his hand to foil Francine's intended escape.

A knowing smile crossed her face. "Billy, I think the assignment calls for 'Miss Holier than Thou'. Someone with a solid upbringing in a typical neighborhood church could nurture our resident doubter in the ways of the faithful. Someone like A-man-da."

"A-man-da," Billy echoed with glee. "I'm sure Mrs. King would be delighted."

* * *

><p><strong>Arlington Ball Park<strong>

The spectators rose to their feet, roaring approval as the Arlington Bomber rounded first and headed for second. The centerfielder grabbed the ball on the third bounce and fired it into the glove of the second baseman, just as the runner slid into the bag. The umpire sliced the air with his two out-stretched arms. "Safe," he yelled, his voice barely heard above the wild cheers of the adoring fans.

Phillip King dusted off his uniform and waved to his mother and grandmother. "Way to go," they shouted in unison.

The boy looked so proud - after all, it was his double that enabled two runs to score, leaving runners on second and third. Despite the rally, the home team still trailed the visitors, four to three. With two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning, the Bombers faced their final moment of reckoning.

Lee Stetson leaned against a towering oak tree that shaded the far end of the first base bleachers. It was a great game and for a few moments he was captivated by the excitement. The pressing business that brought him to the Arlington park now seemed less urgent.

Keeping his distance from the crowd, Lee loosened the knot of his tie and shrugged out of his dark suit coat. Maybe now he could blend into the casual atmosphere of America's favorite pastime. Noting the attire of other fans, he realized a Bombers' baseball cap would provide an even better cover. For future ventures into Amanda's world, he'd better be sure to buy an official hat.

"Batter, batter, batter," chanted the excited fans, eager for the suspenseful game to continue.

Trailing his eyes back to the ball diamond, Lee stiffened when he recognized the hesitant figure stepping into the batter's box. My God, it was Jamie King's turn to bat, and he looked terrified. The poor kid certainly didn't want to make the final out and leave the winning runs stranded on base.

The first pitch flew over the plate. "Strike one," the umpire shouted as Jamie swung and missed.

"Look um over," Amanda yelled from the third base stands as the boy's eyes sought her reassurance.

Nervously tightening his grip on the bat, Jamie moved his small body closer to the plate. Staring back at the pitcher, he seemed to freeze as a fast ball sailed past him, right down the middle.

"Strike two," bellowed the ump.

An annoyed Phillip stomped his foot in the dirt. "Pay attention, doofus."

"Strike him out," hollered the visiting coach as he signaled the pitcher.

Jamie ignored the taunts, but his body language spelled the agony of defeat. Choking up higher on the bat, he once again faced his nemesis.

With a slow windup, the pitcher checked his runners and finally released the ball. Jamie swung with all the power he could muster, managing to nick a piece of the speeding missile. The ball feebly moved along the baseline, and there it died - a foul ball.

"Good try," shouted a Bomber fan.

"Strike three, strike three, strike three," chanted the visiting team.

Lee cringed, feeling the pressure weighing on Jamie's shoulders. It may only be a game, but on this sunny afternoon it was the most important moment in the young boy's life.

"Ball one," the umpire called as Jamie ducked the wild pitch and hit the dirt. Now the King boy was really rattled.

Ever protective, Amanda and her mother left the stands, opting to hover behind the backstop. "Hang in there," a familiar raspy voice encouraged her offspring.

Securing his batting helmet firmly on his head, Jamie dug in his cleats and took a timid practice swing.

Lee moved closer, watching the pitcher complete his windup. "Come on, champ. Give it a wallop," he shouted before he remembered his proper place. Too late, common sense stopped him in his tracks. What the hell was he doing?

The crack of the bat reverberated through the park as Jamie connected with the speeding projectile. To everyone's amazement, the ball slammed against the infield. Then the wicked chop propelled the ball into a crazy hop that bounded over the pitcher's head.

"Run, Jamie," Dotty screamed, snapping the surprised batter from his lethargy and motioning him toward first base.

Amanda ran to the edge of the infield, frantically waving her arms. "Go, go, go." She kept up the chant as she ran alongside her son, almost the entire length of the baseline.

Infielders scrambled for purchase, and the runners charged from their bases. Rounding third, Phillip sprinted for home plate right on the heels of his teammate who'd already scored the tying run.

Snaring the ball on its third bounce, the shortstop took determined aim at the catcher's ready mitt. The perfect throw met its mark at the same instant Phillip lunged head first for the plate, plowing into the burley kid that blocked his path.

The ump pressed his face toward the tangle of bodies, trying to discern the correct call. "Safe," he yelled as the ball rolled away from the catcher's grasp.

Cheers erupted, and the Bombers flooded the field, gleefully pounding the exuberant Phillip and the relieved Jamie. The King boys were heroes, and their mother and grandmother were ecstatic.

Lee shook his head, amazed at the emotional rush he got from a kids' baseball game and the odd sense of pride he felt for two boys he'd never met. Moving away from the hullabaloo of the ball field, he wondered how he would ever attract Amanda's attention. Maybe it was his turn to wait in the car. Opening the Corvette door, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hi." Amanda's voice stopped him before he could lower himself into the driver's seat. "Are you here looking for me?"

He whirled around to face his colleague. "Ah, yeah, but you seemed a little busy." He shoved his keys into his pocket and leaned his back against the Corvette. "Good game," he affirmed, pointing his thumb toward the ball diamond. "The boys did great."

"Thanks." Amanda managed a hesitant smile, apparently a little uneasy about his foray into the private world of the King family. Scanning the ball field, she kept an eagle eye out for her mother and sons.

Lee folded his arms across his chest, studying her for a moment. The versatile Mrs. King looked adorable in her Bombers' jersey and baseball cap. "You weren't on the bench with the team today. Did you give up coaching?"

Amanda shrugged with indifference. "Well, I was more or less forced to surrender my duties. The other parents felt I was late for too many practices." She lowered her voice and leaned closer to his ear. "Espionage isn't a nine-to-five job, you know."

Lee offered a sheepish grin. "I suppose that would be my fault for keeping you in the field too long." He reached out with his index finger and rubbed a smudge of mustard from the corner of her mouth. "Ah, just a little something from your hotdog, I guess."

Embarrassed, Amanda pulled a tissue from her pocket and hastily wiped his finger. "I was surprised to see you watching the game."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, you were the only adult male without a baseball cap or one of Mrs. Scott's homemade brownies."

He laughed in recognition. "Well, I didn't want to chip a tooth on one of the rock solid treats you ladies sell at the bake goods booth."

"No, we wouldn't want that, would we?" She nervously tugged on her Bombers' cap, pulling the brim lower on her forehead. Her pony tail swung back and forth as her brown eyes looked at everything but him. "Sorry, I couldn't get away from Mother until now."

"Yeah, I know." He reached for her arms in an effort to steady the erratic sway of her body.

"So, what brings you to the park?" She finally managed to look him in the eye.

"I need you, Amanda."

"You need me?" A blush spread across her cheeks.

Lee tried to back track. "Well, ah, what I mean to say is . . . Billy has an assignment for us." Now he felt the need to look away. "That is . . . if you're available."

"Sure," she responded quickly. "I mean, maybe. What is it?"

"Choosy, huh?" He offered a lopsided grin. "I thought you'd jump at the chance."

Diverting her gaze, she slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her heels. "Well, ah, I like to know what I'm getting myself into."

"That's fair enough." He quickly slipped into business mode. "Billy needs us to attend a revival tonight."

"A revival?" Amanda's interest was definitely piqued. "Do you mean a revival of a play or a religious revival?"

Lee sighed. "I'm afraid it's the latter - an honest to God, rural, camp meeting revival. You know, as in halleluiah, sister." He raised his hands above his head and waved in a mock salute to the heavens.

"Oh my gosh." She eyed him warily. "Why does Mr. Melrose want me?"

"A-man-da, isn't it obvious? We're talking religion here. Billy wants one of us to be authentic."

"And, I guess he didn't mean you," she teased. "However, Lee, I'm hardly the revival type. A camp meeting would probably be a bit of a cultural shock for me, too. Gosh, this sounds totally out of the Agency's realm of expertise?"

"Yes, but the big boys from Pennsylvania Avenue have ordered the Agency to get involved. Apparently some Bible thumper came to town preaching gloom and doom on the heathen politicians of the United States government. The guy is also passing out leaflets that condemn the followers of other faiths. The religious community is very nervous."

Amanda looked doubtful. "Oh, Lee, a revival seems pretty benign to me. It's just old time religion. Maybe the sermon will be fiery, but the music will be uplifting, and the country folks will be friendly and sincere.

"Well, sincere or not, the faithful following may be listening to a terrorist."

"Oh my gosh, a terrorist? Are you expecting violence this evening?"

Lee shook his head. "There probably won't be any real danger during the service. However, Reverend Jeremiah Armstrong may be connected to some stolen explosives. And, too, he may have some heavy hitters among his support staff." Lee gripped her forearms firmly and held her in place. "Believe me Amanda, this is serious business."

She nodded in understanding. "You mean the bombastic preacher may also be a mad bomber. Has he already hurt someone?"

Lee blew out a ragged breath and raked his fingers through his hair "We aren't sure, yet. However, an older woman had a heated exchange with the preacher and was found critically injured when her vacation cottage exploded. The woman's name is Hattie Henderson, and she's from Arlington, Virginia. Do you know her?"

"No, I don't." Amanda shrugged her shoulders.

Lee impatiently checked his watch. "Look, I need an answer now. If you accept the assignment, Billy wants to brief you, and then we need to leave for Paris, Virginia by six o'clock. Otherwise, I'll have to rope Francine into going with me."

Amanda grinned and gently punched his arm. "Oh, I wouldn't miss the revival, big fella. It's not often that I get to see you operate totally outside your comfort zone. Tonight should prove to be very interesting."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Camp Meeting **

The comfort of the air conditioned station wagon was a fleeting memory as Amanda exited the vehicle and smacked up against a thick wall of humidity. Within seconds, she began to wilt under the oppressive heat of the sweltering summer evening. Swatting at a swarm of gnats that hovered in her path, she hurried to catch up to her colleague.

In the distance, billowing thunderheads towered over the darkening landscape, and a flash of lightning jumped between the clouds. "Looks like we're in for a storm," she said, finally closing the space between them. "We need the rain."

"Humph," he snorted, never slowing his pace.

Amanda sighed with resignation. The caring Lee had already reverted to the sullen Scarecrow. Her partner had barely uttered a dozen words as they rode together in her car. The closer they'd gotten to their destination, the grumpier he became.

Clearly he didn't want the assignment. She couldn't blame him. An evening of excessive religious fervor was bound to be wrought with emotional manipulation.

"Keep up," he called over his shoulder. "The damn service has started without us."

"Aye, Aye, Captain Cook," she mumbled. Amanda quickened her step and bit back an appropriate reprimand for her colleague. Lee was certainly in a hurry, especially since the parking lot was filled to capacity and they had to park a quarter of a mile down the road. Despite his purposeful stride, he looked miserable. Already perspiration soaked the back of his shirt, and beads of sweat clung to his neck and temples.

"You should've worn shorts," she said, ignoring his preference for silence. "You're going to melt in those jeans and that long sleeve denim shirt." Although, she thought to herself, he sure fills them out nicely.

He broke his stride and turned to look at her. "Amanda, please, you know I hate to wear shorts. If I recall correctly, you think my legs are just okay."

"Oh, Lee, you're not still nursing a grudge . . . ."

"Besides," he complained, "you remember what Billy said. Blend in, right?"

"Yes, I know," she shot back. "And you told me I look appropriately dull." She glanced down at her navy blue shirtwaist dress and black pumps. When no other comment was forthcoming from her companion, Amanda searched through her shoulder bag. "We have to stay hydrated, Lee. Would you like a juice box?"

"What?" His face clouded into another scowl.

"A juice box - I have lemon lime and wild cherry. I always make the boys take them whenever they're on a hike."

"Ssh." He abruptly ended their exchange as they approached the gigantic tent. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a slim gold band and unceremoniously slipped it on her finger."

"Lee," she gasped. "I thought we were going to be brother and sister."

"Nope, Billy changed his mind." Jutting out his jaw, he practically dared her to protest.

"Fine," she said with a withering glance at her prickly companion, "but in the future, I expect advance notice."

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled, "if there is a next time." The tic in his jaw pulsated with barely controlled anger. "From here on out, we're Lee and Amanda Simpson from Salem, Virginia."

"Leroy," she countered, determined to challenge his authority."

"Who?"

"Leroy sounds more authentic than Lee. Remember, Billy wants us to fit in."

"Fine - We're Leroy and Amanda Simpson. Now just play along, okay?" Taking her hand, Lee guided her through the wide opening in the tent where hundreds of worshippers were already belting out a song.

_**- "Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war" -**_

Amanda conjured up a brave smile as the usher led them toward some available seats. Thankfully, she'd done her homework and knew what to expect on the tenth night of the two week revival. Billy had warned them that Reverend Jeremiah Armstrong possessed a unique style of bluster and intimidation. According to rumor, the man had saved more souls by preaching the threat of Hell than the hope of Heaven.

Perusing the faces of the devout participants, she wondered if she was up for the task. Going undercover as a folksy fundamentalist may prove more challenging than the average assignment she'd shared with Lee. It wasn't as if she was accustomed to a revival. The traditional, structured worship of her neighborhood church was typically long on ritual and short on spontaneity.

Obviously Lee was way outside his comfort zone and would need a lot of coaxing to appear engaged in the service. The big dog-eared, oversize Bible he toted, courtesy of Leatherneck, was probably going to be his undoing.

Easing into a row of wooden folding chairs, Amanda picked up the hymnal and found the correct page. Then pointing out the verse to her colleague, she hoped he would get with the program. Raising her voice in song, she heard only a heavy sigh emanating from Lee. He either couldn't or wouldn't join in the singing.

"Lee," she whispered after the hymn ended and another song was announced. "The object here is to sing. You've heard of it - putting words to music."

"Amanda, I can't."

"Of course, you can." She moved closer and nudged the hymnal into his reluctant hand. "Just try it; I know it will lift your spirit."

Nodding his consent, he glanced at the page and rewarded her with the sound of his rich baritone.

_**- "A-maz-ing Grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me."- **_

Immediately he ceased singing. "Oh, brother, 'wretch' - well, that makes me feel so much better." Handing the hymnal back to her, he busied himself with pulling out his handkerchief and mopping the perspiration from his face and neck.

Resigning herself to the Stetson stubbornness, she decided to make the best of the long evening ahead of them. "Okay, for you, buster," she murmured as she returned to the hymn.

_**-"Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come; tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home."-**_

The words struck a chord for her. "Amen to that," she whispered to herself.

As the hymn ended, Lee and Amanda squeezed onto the narrow folding chairs. Crowding each other's space, they were practically joined at the hip as they wiggled for room. "A-man-da," Lee complained when the heel of her shoe stabbed him in the ankle. "Watch it."

Suddenly a booming voice grabbed their attention. "If you die tonight, do you know where you'll be going?" roared the burley Reverend Armstrong. A tall man with a wide girth, he had a shock of wavy black hair and a weathered face - a rather strange mixture of features, reminiscent of Johnny Cash and Ernest Borgnine.

"Wake up, before it's too late," he called with all the trumpeting volume of a stampeding elephant.

"Amen," called the captivated crowd in return.

"Oh, great." Lee slouched lower in his seat, stretching his long legs out into the aisle. His body language spoke volumes. What better way to announce his contempt for the service than to behave like a bored teenager in a seventh period Latin class. "Crap," he mumbled a bit too loudly when the preacher shouted again.

"Ssh." Amanda pulled the forgotten Bible from him and opened it to the text for the sermon. If he was going to act like one of her boys then she'd be happy to indulge him. "Lee, we can follow along with his message."

"Give me that." With a contemptuous glare, he yanked the Bible onto his lap. "It's not like I've never held one before tonight." Quickly he thumbed through the pages and found the correct chapter and verse.

Bothered by his crabbiness, Amanda leaned away from him and stiffened her back in silent protest.

He immediately relented. "Here, we'll share." Flashing her a sheepish Stetson grin, Lee positioned the Bible between their laps. The gesture was short-lived, because he was soon ticked off again when the preacher bellowed his next dire warning.

"Humph," he grunted and handed her the Bible. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes to the whole spectacle.

Watching her partner, Amanda wondered if he was falling asleep. The tent was stifling in the August heat. Many congregants were fanning themselves with bulletins, either to keep the air moving or to discourage the flies that buzzed around them.

"No unrepentant man will escape the eternal fire," Brother Armstrong warned with convincing passion. A loud clap of thunder seemed to affirm his pronouncement.

Watching the reluctant worshiper, Amanda decided she'd better wake him up. With a well-placed elbow jab to his side, she quickly got his attention.

"A-man-da," Lee hissed between gritted teeth. "Stop poking me."

"Lee, you have your eyes closed. I'm afraid you'll miss something important."

"I'm listening." He reached over and squeezed her forearm. "So far he's only condemned unrepentant men to Hell. He didn't mention women and children."

"Thank God for small favors." Amanda caught the teasing gleam in his eyes and offered him a wide smile in return.

Assured that her colleague was doing his job, she settled back in her seat, permitting her mind to wander where it shouldn't go. Silently acknowledging the truth, she admitted it was nice sitting in such close proximity to Lee. The cramped chairs were too meager in size to contain his large frame. Consequently his arm pressed against her shoulder. Even in the oppressive summer heat, she deliberately maintained the contact.

Abruptly Lee stretched his limbs and casually draped his right arm over the back of her chair, increasing her perception of intimacy. Maybe he was oblivious, but she was certainly cognizant of his every move. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her side and hear the quiet exhale of his breath.

The aura of the Stetson masculinity rivaled the flamboyance of the charismatic speaker. It was really no contest at all. The comfort and familiarity of Lee's presence won hands down over the threatening message of the evangelist. The fact that she was in a religious setting fleetingly nudged her conscience with messages of propriety. Maybe her thoughts were blasphemous, but being physically close to Lee Stetson felt like an amazing state of grace.

"And lewdness and lust," shouted the Reverend Armstrong, snapping her out of her private daydream with a pang of guilt. What was he saying - something about the false gods of sinful Americans. Better pay attention, she reminded herself.

"God will take revenge," thundered the preacher with all the gusto of a severe summer storm. He mopped the perspiration from his red face as he raised the good book above his head, waving it like a threatening club. "The Lord has reached his limit with the unrepentant. God will send great tribulation upon the evildoers and invite the saved to live in his glorious kingdom."

The ardent followers embraced the dire predictions, echoing his sentiment with a chorus of "Amen."

"The Lord spoke to me," Brother Armstrong claimed as he pounded the pulpit with a mighty wallop. "It wasn't a dream, NO SIREE. God came to me in a flash of blinding light. He laid his hand upon my shoulder and called me by name. The Lord said, 'Jeremiah, you're one of my chosen to hasten the end times'."

"Praise the Lord," shouted the faithful.

Brother Armstrong rambled on, pumped with his own self-importance. "The Almighty chose me to be a soldier in His army. The time is upon us. Very soon, God will bring the evildoers to justice. The unrepentant will be damned. The godless government is doomed. A fiery death awaits the enemies of the Lord."

Suddenly Lee tensed and sat up straight. Amanda felt his hand press her forearm. Whatever veiled threat the evangelist was making was not lost on her colleague.

He leaned over and spoke softly in her ear. "Wait here. I'm going to take a look around."

"But, Lee . . . ." He was gone before she could finish her thought. Weighing the option of disregarding his order, she reluctantly decided to pay closer attention to the preacher's message. Besides, with the lightening flashing all around them, the rain would surely cut loose at any second.

* * *

><p><strong>Campgrounds<strong>

The minute Lee left the service, a fierce thunderstorm rolled into the campground, sabotaging the investigation before he could get it under way. Determined to press on, he found himself engulfed in a torrential downpour that mercilessly pelted his body. "And this was my stupid idea," he muttered, maneuvering his way over puddles of water. Guided by the dangerous lightening that lit up the sky, he headed around the tent and entered through an open flap.

Posting himself in a back stage area, Lee dropped to a crouch and strained to hear a muffled conversation between two heavy weight staffers. Noting the starched white shirts, dark suits and carnations in their lapels, he concluded they were ushers.

"Brother Armstrong has the folks eating out of his hands," a deep voice proclaimed.

"You bet your life," responded his sidekick. "Jeremiah's salesmanship is in peak form tonight. He could sell bathing suits to Eskimos."

"And parkas in the Tropics. Let's hope he can convince the crowd of eternity."

"And a generous offering, too. Maybe the faithful will reach deep into their pockets."

"Amen to that brother."

"Let's get in there, before the altar call."

"Yeah, he's going to need back-up when the stampede starts."

Lee prepared to follow when another noise caught his attention.

"Achoo." There was no mistaking the sound of a feminine sneeze.

"A-man-da?" he whispered, convinced that his protégé had failed to remain in her seat.

"Guess again," a sultry female voice countered, prompting him to reach for the gun strapped to his lower leg.

"What the hell?"

A mere slip of a woman stepped from the shadows. Fit and trim with bobbed, platinum blonde hair, she looked out-of-place in her chartreuse A-line dress and pearl necklace. "Don't shoot, big fella. I'm not dangerous."

He quickly holstered the weapon and eased his pant cuff back in place. "Sorry, ma'am, but we have to keep security tight tonight," he adlibbed. "I'm just doing my job."

"Security, my foot, you were spying on the preacher's head ushers."

"Well, you can't be too careful, even with regulars." It was a hasty response, but he needed to embellish some sort of cover story.

"Do I look stupid to you?" The intruder fussed with her wet umbrella, deliberately shaking the droplets of water in his direction.

Lee took a step back, wondering if she would poke him in the eye with the pointed end of her weapon. The dame certainly looked familiar, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around her appearance - about forty-years-old, brightly polished nails, carefully applied make up, stylish high-heeled sandals. She had to be from suburbia. She certainly didn't arrive by farm tractor or pick-up truck.

"And what is your name?" he asked tersely, hoping his bedraggled appearance didn't diminish his voice of authority.

"Aggie," she offered lightly, letting her eyes rake over him with obvious approval.

He straightened his shoulders under her gaze. "You're Aggie, who?"

"Aggie's quite enough for now, unless you're planning to arrest me for leaving my seat?"

"Oh, so you're the spunky, huh? Why don't you tell me what you're doing behind the scenes?"

"First, I want to see some official identification, officer . . . . "

"Simpson," he lied, flashing his Agency badge at a safe distance.

She squinted at the print as he flipped the cover closed. "For all I know that came from a Sugar Pops cereal box. Is it an authentic Wyatt Earp or a Marshall Matt Dillon tin star?"

"Wrong," he hissed. "I got it from a box of Cracker Jacks." He couldn't believe her sass. "Look, lady, I don't have time to play your games. Now I want the truth."

She smiled a devilish grin. "It's very simple. I'm an autograph seeker. I collect the signatures of all the famous evangelists." Reaching in her purse she pulled out a pen and paper. "Would you be so kind as to ask Brother Armstrong to sign his name?"

"Give me that." Beyond frustration and moving toward outrage, Lee grabbed the proffered paper and shoved it in his pocket. Stepping forward, he wrapped his fingers around her arm, propelling both of them toward the exit. "Ma'am, I need you to return to the worship service, or I'll be forced to escort you from the premises."

The revival was still going strong when Lee left an irate Aggie in the hands of a confused usher. "Please find the lady a seat," he demanded, promptly turning on his heel and heading back outside.

With a sidelong glance in the direction of Amanda, he was relieved to see she had obeyed orders. "Thank God," he whispered with a twinge of guilt. She definitely appeared abandoned and bored.

What a mistake. He could have used her help to run interference on the world class nuisance who'd crossed his path. Well, she'd have to wait. Another quick look around and he'd return to Amanda's side.

It was no use running through the downpour of the summer storm. He might as well take his time, since he was already soaked to the skin. Picking his way discreetly through the shadows, he headed for the biggest motorhome on the premises. In the light of the utility pole, he could barely make out the inscription. "The Holy Roller," it said in gold and black lettering, painted within a scroll across the side of the vehicle. Underneath the depiction, more words proclaimed, "God's Own Man - Brother Jeremiah Armstrong."

Lee blew out a low whistle, shaking his head at the irony. What arrogance. God's humble servant certainly traveled in style.

Pulling out his lock pick, Lee prepared to gain entrance to the minister's home away from home. Maneuvering the mechanism with practiced concentration, he smiled when the tumblers slipped into place. Quickly stepping inside, he began to survey his surroundings.

"Well, get a load of this." Obviously no expense had been spared. The interior looked as plush as Air Force One. It had a leather upholstered sofa and easy chairs, a mahogany table, a queen-size bed, fine china and crystal, thick carpet, and a large television."

Spotting a small cluttered desk, he sat down and thumbed through the assortment of weapons' catalogs and pamphlets. "Well, what've we got here, Jeremiah - a hobby or something more sinister?"

"Home sweet home, isn't it, darling?"

At the sound of the female voice, Lee jumped up with flashlight in hand. "Oh, no, I can't believe it's you again."

"Still doing security, I see." Aggie shielded her eyes from the beam of light. "What's the matter - afraid the boss is up to no good?"

Furious, Lee cut the light. "I can't believe this. I warned you once, lady, and I'm not going to warn you again. What do you want this time - recipes of the rich and famous?"

"Don't be silly," she intoned, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Just think of me as a Jessica Fletcher character to your Sherlock Holmes. Or are you more the James Bond type?"

"Look, I do this for a living, and I suspect you don't, right? It's not pretend, ma'am."

"Please, don't call me ma'am," she protested. "Consider me your contemporary."

Ignoring her comment, he continued to lambaste her intrusion. "People can get hurt, so leave the policing to the pros, Aggie." Abandoning the investigation, he guided her toward the door with a firm hand on her back.

"Real people are already hurt," she snapped. "And that does concern me."

"What are you talking about?" He reached for her elbow, certain she had vital information.

Protesting the unwelcome restraint, she tried to loosen his grip. "I'm not at liberty to tell you anything, but I hope to God you're really investigating these charlatans and bringing them to justice." With that she shook off his hand and hurried from the motorhome.

"Aggie, what do you know?" He started after her as she disappeared into the night. Determined to catch her, he came up short when he spotted more of Armstrong's "suits" combing the grounds. "Damn it," he groaned, ducking out of sight. Now was not the time to tangle with the revival bouncer brigade.

* * *

><p><strong>Revival Closing<strong>

Amanda rubbed her bleary eyes and stretched out her aching muscles. The uncomfortable wooden chairs were torturous contraptions in their own right. What pain they couldn't inflect on the body, Jeremiah Armstrong managed to impose on the soul with his punishing message. For forty minutes, the preacher practically raised the roof as he manipulated the masses and piled on the guilt. Brother Armstrong certainly bore an appropriate last name. His strong words could arm-twist even the most stubborn person into submission.

To Amanda's dismay, the sermon didn't aim to comfort the afflicted nor did it call the people to love and serve others. Instead, Jeremiah Armstrong offered the images of human shame and a vindictive God to scare the living delights out of his followers. For good or for ill, the man was certainly gifted with the power of persuasion.

"What is the deadly sin that separates you from salvation?" Thrusting out his hand, Reverend Armstrong began to point to people in the congregation. "Confess, sister. Confess, brother. Confess and be saved."

"My God, people actually sit still for this guy," a disheveled Lee whispered as he slid into his seat. Dripping wet, his clothes clung to his long frame and his hair lay plastered against his head. "Can you believe this joker?"

Amanda inched away from his saturated body. She could forget about enjoying her colleague's close proximity tonight. "Lee, where have you been?"

"Ssh." He placed his index finger against her lips. "Later."

"Who will bare his soul?" Brother Armstrong bellowed in a voice that rivaled the rolling thunder. "Repent and believe."

Slowly people stood to confess. "I buy too much make up," said a young teenager. "My mother says I'm vain. I'll try to do better."

"Praise the Lord," cried Jeremiah. "A sinner has repented."

"It's the drink," slurred an oldster, unsteady as he tried to stand in place. "I need the Lord's help to quit."

"Praise the Lord," sang the choir.

"It's my anger," cried another. "God help me. I have a terrible temper."

"Amen," shouted Rev. Armstrong, motioning for the pianist to join in his effort.

The music added its own unique power of persuasion. "A-a-men, a-men, a-men," the congregants sang in unison, moving more people to repentance.

On and on the sinners made their confessions and still the preacher pressed on. "Forsake sloth, turn away from greed. Lay your sins at the altar."

"God, I can't take another minute of this huckster." Lee hastily grabbed Amanda's hand and motioned toward the exit. Rising from his seat, he gave her arm a tug. "Let's get out of here."

"We can't leave now," she whispered. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she stubbornly refused to budge. "Lee, sit down. You're only drawing attention to yourself."

Her refusal quickly fanned the flames of his indignation. "Amanda," he hissed into her ear. "Don't you understand me? Let's vamoose, scram, mush, move it - now."

Instead she sat there, ignoring his command.

Brother Jeremiah pointed in their direction. "No one should slither away like a lowly snake. Repent now and be saved."

"See," she said. "The preacher will make a spectacle out of us if we try to march out of here."

"Hell," he mumbled as he dropped to his chair. Glaring at his partner, Lee's thunderous look promised certain retribution for her defiance.

Jeremiah continued his tirade. "Cast aside whatever sin imprisons you. Is it pride? Is it anger? Is it lust? To lust in your hearts is to lust before God."

"Oh, no." Amanda sank lower in her seat. Why did Brother Armstrong have to look right at them? Feeling accused, she took a quick peek at her colleague.

With fists clenched, Lee seethed with rage. "Damn," he muttered under his breath.

Reaching for the large Stetson hand, Amanda tried to sooth her partner. Thankfully he accepted the peace offering and squeezed her fingers in return.

Finally Brother Armstrong ended his call to repentance, and the melee began to subside. Lee released a cleansing breath. "Thank God," he whispered. "The worst is over."

"Or maybe not," Amanda cautioned. "The preacher still has to give his altar call."

"An altar call?" Lee's eyes begged for deliverance. "No, no way. We should get the hell out of Dodge before this character sends his posse and forces us to our knees."

Amanda took pity and nudged him with her elbow as the organ began the closing hymn. "Okay, Lee, I surrender. Let's hightail it out of here."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - Maplewood Drive**

Dotty was just hanging up the phone when Amanda came through the back door of their white Cape Cod home. A look of suspicion clouded the older woman's eyes, and she crossed her arms in exasperation. "I don't suppose you want to tell me where you've been this evening, Missy?" She clicked her nails on the stainless steel cook top, obviously waiting for a full explanation.

Amanda hesitantly set her purse on the counter and took a deep breath. What now? The last thing she needed tonight was an interrogation. "Sorry I'm late. We had an emergency at work." It was a useless stall tactic. Her mother would never buy it.

Dotty's penetrating gaze could break the most accomplished liar. "I suppose the camera was out of batteries or, let me guess, the film was exposed to sunlight. Now you're going to tell me the whole shoot must be done again."

Dropping her weary body on a kitchen stool, Amanda kicked off her shoes. "You're upset, Mother? I thought you'd grown accustom to my being a little late. What's really wrong?"

"Oh, nothing much - I was fine until Agnes Ferguson called." Dotty banged the tea kettle down on the burner with more force than necessary. "Let me fix you a cup of tea, darling?"

Amanda massaged her temples, wondering where the conversation was headed. Her mother was watching her like a hawk. "You mean Agnes was actually home for a change? We never see her anymore, not since she met the Alpaca farmer from Emporia."

"See, you're out of touch, darling," Dotty said with one of her knowing looks. "Agnes sent the Alpaca farmer packing months ago. Her latest beau is a mystery writer - some flashy gentleman in his mid-thirties who's in D.C. doing research for his novel."

"Well, I'm sure he must make an interesting date, but it sounds like Agnes is robbing the cradle." Amanda managed a wry smile. "Agnes sure gets around for someone her age."

"What do you mean by 'her age'?" Dotty huffed. "You make her sound ancient. Our vibrant neighbor is a very young fifty, and she could easily pass for forty. By all appearances, Agnes doesn't get older, only better."

"Okay, Mother, you win. Agnes Ferguson is well preserved. Heaven knows, she has more dates than I do."

"Well, men of all ages find Agnes desirable."

Amanda sighed. Even her mother had more dates than she did. "So, I guess Agnes took a breather from the social scene tonight."

"Not exactly, darling. It seems Agnes needed some old time religion."

Nibbling on a granola bar, Amanda nearly choked. "You're kidding - old time religion? That's quite an about face for our Agnes."

Dotty opened the cupboards and pulled down the cups and saucers in a frenzy of motion. "Yes, it certainly came out of the blue, but Agnes hasn't been herself since her aunt landed in the hospital. The dear old lady is apparently comatose after a serious accident. I guess the tragedy prompted our neighbor to do some soul searching."

"Oh, how awful. I hope her aunt recovers. No wonder poor Agnes sought out spiritual support."

"Life's like that, darling. Many people keep their spiritual thoughts hidden until something terrible happens."

Tea time seemed forgotten as Dotty hovered closer. "I don't suppose you knew about the revival tonight near Paris, Virginia?"

Amanda felt a telltale flush warm her cheeks. "Oh my gosh. A revival, you say? And clear across the state."

"Yes, dear, a revival is being held in the rolling hills of western Virginia." Dotty quirked an eyebrow as she locked eyes with her daughter. "You never know whom you'll see when you least expect it. In fact, Agnes was sure she saw you."

Amanda willed herself not to blink under her mother's unsettling gaze. "Me? Well, isn't that silly. What would I be doing at a revival?"

"Indeed," Dotty said with a slight hint of skepticism in her voice. "That's exactly what I told Agnes. I knew it was ridiculous. Why, in heaven's name, would my Amanda be at a revival? You're spiritual in a quiet sort of way, but you wouldn't drive out of town for a camp meeting revival. Agnes's claim doesn't make any sense at all."

"You're right, Mother. The very idea is utterly absurd." Amanda put on a brave smile.

For all of ten seconds, Dotty seemed pacified. Then her brow furrowed with concern. "On the other hand, Agnes was positively adamant that she saw you there."

Amanda sighed inwardly. Would the interrogation ever end? "Well, you know what they say, Mother - everyone has a double somewhere. Maybe mine showed up at the revival." Quickly rising from the stool, Amanda headed for the stairs. "I think I'll take a rain check on that cup of tea. It's been a really long day, and I need my sleep. You can tell me all about Agnes and her religious experience tomorrow."

"Suit yourself, darling, but you're missing the best part."

"Best part?" Amanda wasn't sure she wanted to know. Stepping back into the kitchen, she decided to listen to the rest of the story. "Okay, I'll bite."

Dotty's benign smile was anything but innocent. "The best part was your date, of course."

"Date?" Amanda bit her lip as she clasped nervous hands behind her back. "What date?" she asked, trying to deflect the speculation.

Dotty's eyes narrowed with clear accusation. "Agnes said you were sitting with . . . or, I'm sorry, your double was sitting with . . . a tall handsome stranger. Apparently the couple left the revival in quite a hurry."

"Oh, Mother, that's a fantasy. Did Agnes describe the gentleman in her fairytale?"

Dotty was unfazed by her daughter's mockery. "Apparently the man possessed the 'aw-shucks' western look of Gary Cooper and the 'lady-killer' demeanor of Cary Grant."

Amanda couldn't help but laugh. "So, this gentleman is in his seventies. He sounds a little old, even for Agnes."

"Don't make fun, darling." Dotty crossed her arms tightly against her thin frame. "Agnes was referring to the famous actors in their prime. She also said the stranger had an aura of mystery about him - like a Sean Connery."

"Don't you think she was being a tad melodramatic?" Amanda inched toward the doorway, hoping to escape the parental innuendos. "If Agnes is looking for a spiritual awakening at a revival, I'm not sure why she was checking out the men."

"Mark my words, darling," Dotty replied as she shadowed Amanda toward the stairs. "It's not just the soul that needs reviving. A good look at God's creation does wonders for the body and the spirit. After all, Michelangelo captured God's best work when he painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel."

"Mo-ther!"

"Too bad you missed the revival, darling. There's always tomorrow night."

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, Amanda - pleasant dreams."

* * *

><p><strong>Agency<strong>

Lee paced the full length of the office as he briefed his section chief on the findings from the previous night. "I'm telling you, Billy, you wouldn't believe the ton of muscle roaming the campground. The men looked like the original Bowery Boys, not ushers at an old time revival."

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. "Come," Melrose called, beckoning for Amanda to enter his inner sanctum.

"Good morning, sir. Hello, Lee."

Barely nodding a greeting, Lee continued his relentless stroll around the room.

Billy smiled warmly at his favorite civilian employee and pointed to a chair. "Have a seat, Amanda. Scarecrow is filling me in on last night."

"So," Lee continued, "the storm chased everyone inside and provided me with sufficient opportunity to look around. I managed to get a peek at the fancy motorhome the humble evangelist drives - appropriately named, get this, 'The Holy Roller.' Brother Jeremiah spares no expense when it comes to his creature comforts."

"I guess he doesn't know the story of the 'Rich Young Ruler,'" Amanda interrupted.

"What story?" Lee paused, regretting immediately that he'd stopped to acknowledge her comment. Taking a defensive stance, he silently dared his partner to expose his ignorance.

Amanda was not to be intimidated. "Oh, it's just a story in the Bible. Jesus told the rich young ruler to go sell all he had and follow . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she took note of his scowl.

He shook his head at her audacity. She just had to go ahead and test him on Bible facts. "Thank you for the Sunday school lesson, Amanda. I bet you have a string of perfect attendance medals crammed in a drawer."

"Yes, and I received a beautiful white Bible for memorizing twenty-five scripture verses," she said proudly. "I never dreamed they'd come in handy for a career in espionage."

"Oh, brother." A stronger retort was about to fly from his mouth when his boss interceded.

"And that is exactly why we chose Mrs. King for the assignment. At least one of you can maintain a convincing cover." Placing himself between the two, Melrose managed to defuse any lingering animosity.

"So, Lee, you had a chance to search the evangelist's motorhome?" Billy expertly steered them back on track as he ignored his agent's grumpiness. "Did you find anything incriminating?"

Lee folded his arms and leaned against the window frame. "Oddly enough, Brother Jeremiah left quite a pile of leaflets scattered on his desk, everything from a schedule of gun shows to catalogs selling firearms and explosives. I think I need to get back inside with a camera and take pictures of the most damning evidence. Maybe I can find some receipts for purchases of explosives."

"Good work, Scarecrow. Poke a stick around that hole and see what else you find."

Billy turned to Amanda. "How did you like the revival?"

She looked down at her hands, folded delicately in her lap. "Well, Reverend Armstrong's style was a bit too intrusive for my tastes."

With a slight shake of his head, Lee tried to silence her remarks.

She ignored him. "Maybe Lee already mentioned how the preacher drew attention to us during his sermon on the 'Seven Deadly Sins.'"

"A-man-da," Lee cautioned. "Armstrong singled out a lot of people during his message."

Melrose's radar went on high alert. "So, the evangelist preached on the 'Seven Deadly Sins'?" Billy looked intrigued. "It sounds important to me." Turning his back on the twosome, he failed to conceal a low chuckle.

"Yes, sir," Amanda said, warming up to the topic. "You've probably heard the list: pride, greed, envy, anger, sloth, and, ah, lust." She choked on the last word as a bright blush crept from her neck to her cheeks.

Lee moved closer to his protégé, trying to divert her train of thought. "I'd button it, loose lips."

Melrose counted on his fingers - pride, greed, envy, anger, sloth and, ah, lust. That's only six deadly sins. "What was the seventh?"

Amanda's eyes widened as her gaze landed on two glazed chocolate donuts sitting in wait on Billy's desk. Faux pas or not, she seemed determined to stick with the truth. "Ah, yes, sir. The seventh deadly sin would be gluttony."

Billy's jaw dropped, and he quickly covered his discomfiture by coughing into his fist. "Well, yes, of course, gluttony. I suppose all of us are guilty of one sin or another." Melrose retreated behind his desk and carefully pushed his sugary temptation out of sight.

Lee raised his eyebrows at Amanda . "Are you happy now?"

Shaking her head, Amanda acknowledged her mistake. "Lee," she whispered, "I certainly didn't mean to insult our supervisor."

"Forget it." Determined to get back to the main focus he waved off her apology. "Billy, nothing in the preacher's sermon seemed immediately threatening to national security."

"Reverend Armstrong did mention gloom and doom for the government," Amanda reminded him.

Lee nodded in agreement. "Yes, he did, but Armstrong believes the end is near for everyone, not just the hated politicians. According to him, only those who 'repent and believe' will be a part of God's new reign."

"And don't forget his other claim," Amanda added. "Brother Jeremiah believes he's one of God's appointed soldiers to hasten the end times."

"Yeah, he sees himself as a righteous soldier," Lee said with disgust. "The man's beliefs make no sense at all." Balling his left hand into a tight fist, he punched the air in frustration. Then crouching in front of his partner, Lee searched her eyes for a sign of understanding. "Amanda, you're a religious person."

"Well, yes, Lee, I am."

"Then please explain to me how seemingly nice folks can follow a 'snake-oil' salesman like Armstrong who proclaims a compassionate God and a caring Jesus in one breath. Then in the next breath, he practically foams at the mouth with rabid threats of a killer God and a warrior Jesus coming to destroy most of humanity? Which kind of God do they believe in, huh?"

Clearly surprised by his outburst, Amanda stared at her colleague. "Gosh, Lee," she said, tentatively brushing his hand with her fingers. "I'm not sure I can explain the contradiction, but I do know the end times' theology of Jeremiah Armstrong is not the central message of Christianity."

Billy ventured closer to his team and placed a fatherly hand on the shoulder of his senior agent. "I grant you, Lee, your question is valid. I took a Church history course in college, and I can guarantee that end times theology has confounded and divided Biblical scholars for centuries. They have yet to find common ground on the symbolic apocalyptic language in the New Testament book of Revelation, which, by the way, was not added to the Bible until nearly 400 years after the death of Jesus."

Rising to his full height, Lee shook his head at the conundrum. "Well, the end times topic sure as hell sells a lot of pop culture books and movie tickets. People eat this stuff up."

Offering an empathetic nod, Billy sought refuge in his executive chair. "Well," he said with a knowing smile, "I didn't expect you to decode the language of an end times preacher in just one evening service. When you listen to Reverend Armstrong tonight, you may hear something more incriminating."

"Billy, no way." Bracing his arms on his boss's desk, Lee's nostrils flared in protest. "I don't want to subject myself to that windbag two nights in a row. Amanda can listen and take notes while I scout the grounds."

"Not again." Leaping to her feet, Amanda stood shoulder to shoulder with her partner as they both leaned toward their section chief. "Lee, supposedly we are undercover as a married couple. If you walk out tonight, Brother Armstrong may draw attention to you again."

Melrose held out his hand to silence the bickering pair. "If you two will stop blindsiding each other, maybe you can allow me to finish."

"Oh, sir," Amanda interrupted. "There is one more little problem."

"What problem?" Lee glared at his partner. It was only eight o'clock in the morning and his coping mechanisms were already shot to hell. "What have you done now?" he barked.

"Scarecrow, please, hear her out." Billy smiled at Amanda. "What are you trying to tell us, Mrs. King?"

"It's Mother, sir."

"Your mother," Lee and Billy replied in tandem, exchanging a dreaded look.

"Yes, you see, Mother talked to Agnes Ferguson. Agnes is our neighbor. Maybe you've seen her, Lee. She walks her dog on Maplewood Drive. He's the scruffy mutt who keeps coming into our yard. Well, anyway, she sometimes comes over for tea or at least calls in the evening."

"Amanda, please get to your point?" Lee motioned with his hands to hurry it up.

"Oh, well, the point is simple - Agnes was at the revival."

"And," Billy asked, "What did she do?"

"She told my mother that I was there. I'm sorry, sir."

"Great, that's just great." Lee's hands did battle with his hair as he crossed the office and collapsed on the sofa.

Billy remained calm. "So, you confirmed your presence at the revival to your mother?"

"Oh, no, sir, I told Mother it must have been my double. I think she bought it, sir."

"Or maybe not," Lee grumbled. With his arms propped on his widespread knees, he held his head in his hands. Amanda's revelation could doom their investigation. "Hell, this changes everything. What if Dotty West decides to show up?"

"Mother would never try to drive all the way to Paris, Virginia. Remember, she only makes right turns. She is certainly not going to appear at a revival."

"Do you want to bet?" Lee leaped from the sofa and stood with his hands on his hips. "Did it occur to you, Amanda King, that your mother could hitch a ride to the revival with Agnes . . . what's her name?"

"Of course, the possibility crossed my mind." Nervously wringing her hands, Amanda glared at her colleague. "However, Agnes told Mother she never wanted to hear Reverend Armstrong preach again. So, neither one of them will show up tonight. End of problem."

Billy sat silently for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "I agree with Lee. The latest glitch could complicate matters." He directed his gaze at Amanda. "We'll send a team to monitor Agnes Ferguson's whereabouts. If she stays home this evening, we can move forward with our plans. If not, then Lee will attend the service, and you'll stay out of sight."

"But, sir, if I can't attend the revival, where will I be? Do you want me to wait in the car?"

Lee rolled his eyes. "And we both know our Amanda never waits in the car."

"She won't have to sit in the car," Billy stated with clear confidence. "If necessary, Mrs. King can wait in the Airstream."

"Airstream?" they chorused together.

"Yes." Billy could scarcely contain his glee. "The Agency has arranged for the two of you to spend the night at the revival campgrounds. I promise you'll have all the comforts of home."

"You're making us sleep at a campsite in a trailer?" Lee turned and caught Amanda's panicked look. "My God, I'd rather join the foreign legion than sing churchy camp songs and toast marshmallows with a bunch of religious fanatics."

"Oh, Lee," Amanda said, recovering from her initial shock. "The experience could be fun."

"Humph," he snorted with contempt. "Maybe camping is fun for you. I'd prefer to rough it at a fleabag motel."

"Go home and pack," Billy ordered, not even trying to hide the gleam in his eyes. "Mr. & Mrs. Leroy Simpson have reservations at the Happy Endings Campground."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Happy Endings Campground  
><strong>  
>Amanda held her breath as Lee gunned the engine of the Chevy Suburban and made his third attempt to back the Airstream into the soggy campsite. His efforts weren't going well. The rain from the previous night had saturated the soil, causing the wheels of the heavy trailer to sink into the mud.<p>

"Oh, Hell," he grumbled, ignoring the nosy folks who watched the spectacle from their lawn chairs on the neighboring site.

"Lee, mind your manners. We have an audience." Nodding toward the gawking campers, Amanda opened the passenger side door and slid from the seat.

"And where are you going?" he asked, giving her an incredulous look. They had barely arrived, and already Lee had expended his limited reserve of patience.

"I'll guide you," she said, not waiting for an answer. Marching to the rear of the campsite, Amanda stood ramrod straight, waving her arms like a metropolitan traffic cop. "Turn the wheel more to the right," she shouted. "That's too much. Now turn to the left just a smidgen."

Looking every bit the part of an irate husband, Lee leaned his head out the window. "A-man-da, this isn't driver's education," he called, his terse words echoing through the woods. Apparently remembering his cover, he flashed a belated smile toward the growing group of spectators. "Please, ah, darling, get out of the way."

Amanda stood her ground, justifying the role reversal as she recalled all the times he'd barked orders and belittled her driving skills. "Ah, sweetheart," she called, "you have to straighten out your approach."

With as much gentility as a grizzly bear, Lee struggled to comply. However, having already blown his cool, he also blew his next attempt. The wheels only sunk deeper into the marshy earth. "Great, this is just great." Opening the door, he leaped to the ground and landed with a splash, ankle deep in a huge puddle. "Damn it," he muttered as muddy water filled his shoes and splattered onto his clothes.

"Watch your language, sonny," an elderly woman scolded him.

"That puddle is the size of Lake Michigan," called one of the bystanders.

"Let the missus drive," added her companion.

Amanda hurried to his side. "Oh, gosh, Lee . . . Leroy, couldn't you see the water?" Grabbing a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment, she began to blot the mud from his pants.

He swatted her hands away. "Okay, Miss Driving Expert," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Why don't you show me how to park a trailer?"

"Well, okay, if you insist." Amanda offered a weak smile, knowing full well that every time they masqueraded as a married couple they exemplified total marital discord. Climbing into the Suburban, she motioned to the crowd. "Everyone stand back."

Lee stood to the side and watched slack-jawed as Amanda revved the engine, slowly pulled forward, and precisely straightened the wheels. Then, making it look easy, she neatly backed the trailer into place.

"How was that?" she called, grinning triumphantly. Putting the Suburban in park, she turned off the engine and came to stand by his side.

A rousing round of applause resounded from the neighboring campsites.

"Thank you." Amanda waved politely and then turned to Lee, only to meet his petulant scowl. Just as she figured, he didn't waste any breath on accolades. Not wanting to bruise his fragile ego any further, she tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, let's finish setting up camp."

Lee offered a curt nod and began the task of opening the awning. Before he secured it in place, several eyewitnesses breeched the boundaries of the Simpsons' private campsite. Quickly Lee and Amanda were surrounded.

With a toothy grin, an oldster stepped forward, proffering stubby fingers from a meaty fist. "Bliss is the name - Barney Bliss. This is my missus, Beulah," he added as he wrapped a muscular arm loosely around the ample waist of his wife.

Pointing to the crowd, Barney continued the introductions. "This here's our son, Bubba, and his bloodhound, Brutus."

The dog pulled on his leash and lunged straight for a cuff on Lee's pants. "Ruff."

"Heel," Bubba commanded, quickly bringing the snarling canine to submission.

"Brutus is nothing more than a lap dog," Barney said, resuming his round of introductions. "I'd like you to meet our other son, Junior, and Junior's wife, Delilah. The two in the matching overalls are Ruby and Pearl, our granddaughters. Precious gems they are, both of them. Give a 'howdy,' girls."

"How-dy." The adolescents grinned as their jaws worked wads of bubble gum.

"Mighty nice camping trailer you've got there." Bubba ran a greasy finger over the slick silver outer shell of the Airstream. "I'd sure like to have a look-see."

"Well, sure, maybe later," Amanda said, smiling warmly, "after we get settled." Nodding politely, she graciously extended her hand. "We're the Simpsons - Leroy and Amanda." She gave Lee a sharp elbow to the ribs to get his mouth engaged.

"Ah, yeah, hi," he managed with painful hesitation. "How are yah all doing?" To Amanda, he whispered, "are these folks for real, or did we just step into a television rerun of 'Hee Haw'?"

Barney hooked his thumbs into the straps of his bib overalls and laughed heartily. "You two are a riot. I'll bet the farm you've never followed the sawdust trail."

Amanda pushed down her growing alarm. The Bliss family was going to see right through their charade. "Pardon me; did you say sawdust trail?"

"He means revival, ma'am. In the old days sawdust was spread on the floor of tent meetings." Beulah's sagging jowls shook with merriment as she threw her head back and laughed. "It's as plain as day that you two have never done an altar call."

"Yeah," Delilah giggled. "The object is to walk toward the altar, not run away from it like you did last night."

Lee ran nervous fingers through his hair as he glanced at his partner. "Ah, well, last night's altar call was a new experience for us."

"We decided to give it another try this evening," Amanda added. "We definitely want to get right with . . . the Lord."

"Alleluia," the group chimed together.

Clearing his throat, Lee motioned Amanda toward their camping trailer. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to get ready for tonight's service." Pulling keys from his pocket, he unlocked the Airstream and pointed at the doorway. "Would you like to be carried across the threshold?"

"NO," she said in a rush. Then reining in a sudden surge of modesty, she flashed him a tight smile. "Thanks for the offer, but we're not posing as newlyweds."

Preceding Lee into the camper, Amanda scanned the limited space. Within seconds, her emotions were mired in anxiety. Right on cue, a litany of proprieties filled her brain. Namely, where was their privacy in such tight quarters?

Standing behind her, Lee placed his hands on her shoulders. "Ah, Amanda, I know what you're thinking? Don't worry. We'll work it out."

"But, Lee, this is just one small room."

"It's big enough," he said with an air of confidence marred only by the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Look, the dining nook converts into a bed." Quickly he adjusted the table to the level of the benches and laid out cushions. "See, lots of room."

"Well, maybe," she said, testing the limited space. "The bed's rather short. It would be perfect for Phillip and Jamie, but a tall adult will have to curl up in a ball."

Lee quickly pulled open the couch. "Voila, we have a nice long double bed." Flopping down on the mattress, he tested the length. "See, there's plenty of room to stretch out."

She raised an eyebrow. "And who gets the big bed?"

"You can have the whole space to yourself," he said with a sheepish grin. "Maybe, there's a maid's closest for me." Pulling open a door, an ironing board fell down, ready for use. "Well, maybe not there."

Opening another door, Amanda's jaw dropped as she stared at a tiny cubicle with a commode and shower. "Oh my gosh," she cried. The toilet takes a shower, too."

"Handy isn't it," Lee said, trying to keep a positive tone. "Someone thought of everything."

"Well, not everything," she reminded him. "There is still a little matter called sleeping arrangements. I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor. You need your rest."

"Amanda," he said, gripping her arms. "After all the crazy assignments over the years, you know damn well you can trust me, even if it should become necessary to share a bed."

"Trust him," Amanda mumbled to herself. Shaking her head, she felt an odd warring of her emotions. After years of growing closer to Lee, would she always be able to trust herself to keep a safe physical distance? "On second thought, Lee, the short bed will be just fine for me."

* * *

><p><strong>Home, Sweet, Home<strong>

Lee stomped his feet on the small welcome mat as he re-entered the trailer. "We're all set up," he said, feeling a sense of pride for his camping skills. "We now have an electrical hook-up, wood for our fire pit, and a dining fly over our picnic table."

Turning from her housekeeping chores, Amanda smiled her approval. "How are Caesar salad and spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?"

"Sounds great," he said, suddenly remembering he'd skipped breakfast and wolfed down a measly Marvelous Marvin burger for lunch. Pausing to observe his helpmate as she rummaged through the storage bins, Lee savored the moment of domestic tranquility. He was astounded at the ease in which they fell into sync and adapted to their new surroundings. "Are you finding all the necessities?"

Amanda pointed to a stack of towels and bedding. "Whoever stocked the camper must have an obsession for Disney characters."

"Oh?"

Unfolding a pillowcase, she revealed "Cinderella and Prince Charming" in full regalia. "The bed sheets have an alluring theme. I hope you like 'Lady and the Tramp'?"

"Humph," Lee grunted as he sorted through the Disney supplies. "Leatherneck is going to pay in blood for his latest practical joke."

In companionable silence, they worked to unpack, store luggage, and fill the cabinets with food staples. Despite the tight space, they expertly maneuvered around each other as if they'd been married for a very long time.

"So," Amanda said as she dusted off her hands. "Maybe I should start dinner. I'm sure you're famished."

"Yeah, I am," he confessed, "but first I should shower. I'm still covered with dirt and grim from the unintended dip in our campsite mud puddle."

"Be my guest." With a grand gesture, she pointed toward the shower stall. Only a faint blush gave away any discomfiture on her part.

"Thanks," he said with a slight hesitation. God, this was awkward, even for him. As Amanda busied herself at the miniscule two-burner stove, he wondered if she should vacate the premises while he undressed. "Ah, Amanda, could you turn around for a moment?"

"Sure," she squeaked, her eyes widening at the mere suggestion. Immediately she focused her attention on the radio and began to scan through the musical options.

Hastily discarding his clothing, he draped himself in a ridiculous "Tron and Yori" bath towel. Then as Amanda kept her eyes trained on the boiling water, he squeezed by her to get to the shower.

"All clear," he called when he took refuge in the tiny stall. Tossing the towel on the ironing board, he shut the shower door. Sighing with relief, he wondered how a wholesome mom from Arlington could twist and bend his nerves of steel. Hell, he was never a hesitant person, at least not until the fateful day he begged an unassuming housewife to enter his dangerous world of espionage. Now he second-guessed every encounter with his civilian protégé.

Shaking off his disconcerting thoughts, he turned his attention to the task at hand. Hopefully an invigorating shower would clear his mind. Fumbling with the spigots, he was brought up short by a subtle but suggestive musical interlude coming from the overhead speaker.

_**"You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest . . . ."**_

The distinct words of a John Denver love song floated to his ears. Now he felt even more exposed as he stood buck naked, not five feet from his partner. "Damn," he growled. Apparently, for his shower enjoyment, Amanda had chosen her favorite easy listening station.

**"You fill up my senses, come fill me again . . . ."**

My God, was his partner innocently playing a song or was she sending him some kind of suggestive message? Given their limited privacy, a cold shower in the primitive camp ground facilities would have been a better choice. What was Billy thinking when he set them both on the path to temptation?

Adjusting the water spray to full force, he tried to relax.

_**"Come let me love you . . ."  
><strong>_  
>The music suddenly grew louder, causing Lee to jump. "Damn," he said as his head banged into the shower ceiling. Amanda must have increased the volume of the radio when he turned on the water.<p>

_**"Let me give my life to you."**_

Resigned to her musical tastes, Lee sung along as he rinsed shampoo from his hair. It was a really nice song, he concluded. Then reaching for a bar of soap, he came up empty. "Ah, Amanda, there's no soap in here," he bellowed above John's humming and strumming.

She announced her presence with a firm knock. "Here," she said, opening the door a crack and slipping a yellow cake of soap into his hand. He barely had a chance to pull his fingers back, before she slammed the door shut again, grazing his knuckles in the process.

"Hey, take it easy," he yelled, turning toward the spray. Suddenly his wide-open mouth swallowed a gulp of water, setting off a spasm of coughing.

_**"Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms**_**,"** John crooned.

"Are you all right?" Amanda called as she hovered on the other side of the stall.

Lee attempted to clear his throat. "Fine, I'm just fine."

Lathering up, he thought about their predicament. At least Amanda was being a good sport, but not sporting enough to share a bed together, he reminded himself. Just the same, she'd grown to trust him over the last two years. They seemed to be developing an easy rhythm with each other, no matter what the circumstances.

Letting the spray massage his taunt muscles, Lee paid closer attention to the song's lyrics.

_**"Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you . . . "**_

"Humph, wouldn't that be a surprise," he said wistfully.

"What did you say?" Amanda called from the other side of the door. "I can't make out your little noises."

"Noises?" My God, why was she listening to him sing and mumble to himself in the shower? Was nothing sacred?

"Lee, can I get you anything?"

"No, nothing at all." Now all he wanted was to dry off and get out of the damn shower stall without embarrassing both of them.

"Ah, Amanda, on second thought, will you hand me my towel?"

* * *

><p><strong>Soul Searching<strong>

The only sound came from forks clanking against ceramic plates as Lee and Amanda finished their dinner in silence. Initially conversation flowed easily while they feasted on the comfort foods of spaghetti and meatballs. However, when hunger pangs were satisfied, a strange unease pervaded the tight confines of their trailer home. Apparently, living in close quarters was already chipping away the protective veneer that concealed the most personal thoughts of two private individuals.

Amanda's astute mind pondered the enigma of Lee Stetson. She knew him to be a caring person, but he was tighter than a drum when challenged to share emotions or discuss the past. If she had the slightest hope of unlocking his hidden pain, then she must deliberately touch a nerve on occasion. Clearing her throat, she took the risk. "Lee, may I ask you a question?"

His straight face morphed into a hesitant smile. "Sure, feel free to ask me anything, unless it's need-to-know."

"Right," she said, squirming a bit before she fired away. "I'm wondering what you have against religion."

Now he squirmed under her scrutiny. "Amanda, no," he said as he vehemently shook his head. "That's the one topic that's off-limits."

"Of course," she murmured, "but if I raise another complicated issue, you'll tell me it's out-of-bounds, too."

"Okay, fine," he shot back. "I'll try to field this one. What is it about my lack of religion that has you bent out-of-shape?"

Nervously, she jumped into the fray. "Well, Lee, to my knowledge, you never attend church or any house of worship, which is not so unusual since many people don't go to religious services. And maybe you never had the opportunity during childhood, what with the loss of your parents and having a difficult uncle as your guardian. It's just that you seem so opposed to religion - almost bitter, like you're mad at God. But, I guess, if you don't believe in a supreme being, you can't be mad at God. Perhaps you're angry with the whole universe." Pausing to take a breath, she waited with trepidation for his response.

With fists clenched and his jaw firmly locked, Lee silently weighed her words. "Dammit, do you have to bulldoze through my minefield of private thoughts? There are some volatile subjects I never discuss with anyone."

"Well, Lee," she said with a wry smile, "I can't resist poking holes in that protective armor you wear to keep people away."

"And, certainly, Amanda King never discovered a festering wound she didn't want to heal." Blowing out a breath, he relaxed a bit. "In truth, you pretty much answered your own question. Yes, I'm carrying some emotional scars from a childhood that soured me on religion. Now are you satisfied?"

"Lee, that doesn't really explain your aversion to religion."

He sighed heavily and pushed his plate to the side. "Fine, I'll give you the short version if that will pacify you."

She nodded, afraid to interrupt.

Lee fortified himself with a gulp of coffee and then leaned forward as if sharing a deep dark secret. "Most of my early childhood is a blur, but I do remember my parents taking me to church. According to the Colonel, my mother was raised in the Church of England and my father was a Roman Catholic. Apparently, they compromised when I was born and decided to attend an Episcopal Church. Little things stand out in my mind - the hard pews, the stained glass windows, and the choir's crimson robes. Mainly I remember sitting between my parents until the children were escorted downstairs for Sunday school."

Amanda held her breath as he struggled for words. Noting his trembling fingers, she reached to grasp his hand.

Accepting her offer, Lee tightened the grip and pressed on. "My proper British Mum was also a stickler for reciting a bedtime prayer before I went to sleep. You know, God bless Dad, Mum, Uncle Robert, the dog, the cat, the turtle, my cowboy boots, etc."

Amanda smiled, trying to imagine the scrubbed and pajama-clad tyke tucked into bed by loving parents. "Your Mom and Dad certainly laid a religious foundation for you."

"Humph," he grunted. I'm afraid I was a natural born skeptic. By the time I celebrated my fifth birthday, Dad called me his little philosopher because I was full of questions. 'Why do I have to pray to the air? Why doesn't God talk to me? What does God look like?'"

Amanda couldn't help but laugh. "So, you were already challenging authority."

Lee merely nodded, his gaze landing on some distant vista that only he could see. "When they died, my childish faith went with them. Despite my prayers for my parents' safety, they didn't come back one night, and I never had a real home again."

Shaking her head in sorrow, Amanda acknowledged his horrific loss.

The edge of his jaw pulsated with repressed emotion as he soldiered on with his story. "After they were killed in a car crash, two days passed before my uncle arrived from overseas. In the interim, I was cared for by an elderly neighbor. Mrs. Ritter was my usual babysitter, so she was with me the night of the accident."

"Did Mrs. Ritter break the news to you?"

"Yes," he choked in a voice thick with grief. "Despite her attempt to explain death, she only confused me when she announced my parents had died and gone to Heaven. In my mind, they were just visiting another city and would soon return. Consequently, I stood by the front window for hours on end, waiting for them to appear. Dead, gone, or missing, I insisted my parents would come back to me."

"Of course, you were too little to comprehend death," Amanda said, blotting at the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

Lee's face looked haunted as he struggled to shed more light on his past. "My uncle was completely clueless when confronted with children of any age, so once Mrs. Ritter informed him of my stubborn behavior, he took immediate retaliatory action. In Robert Clayton's 'might makes right' rule book, firmness was the cure for an obstinate five-year-old. He felt cold hard reality would set me straight on the matter of death, so he marched me to the funeral home ahead of the calling hours."

"Oh, Lee . . ."

"I watched my uncle hesitate as we entered the parlor, and I saw a hint of tears cloud his eyes. However, he quickly straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and pointed out two identical caskets. "Now do you understand, Skip?" he asked in his clipped, booming military voice. "All the life has gone out of your mother and father."

"Oh, no," Amanda said, "you must have been traumatized."

As if in a daze, Lee nodded. "I stared in disbelief at my parents' still bodies. They were recognizable but different - more like department store mannequins. To me, they were just sleeping. Before my uncle could grab me, I took off like a shot, straight to the caskets. 'Wake up,' I cried, trying to hold my mother's lifeless hand. Then I ran to my father. 'Daddy, let's go home,' I pleaded, tugging on his sleeve. Then my uncle pulled me off of them and carried me, kicking and screaming, from the room. I never saw them again."

Amanda sat stunned, silently weeping as she laced her fingers with his. There was no doubt in her mind that Lee Stetson was reliving the heartbreak he'd kept locked inside of him for three decades.

Like a swollen river flooding its banks, Lee's agony spilled from his soul. "Amanda, I can't begin to tell you how angry I was at everyone - my parents for abandoning me, my uncle for his military rigidity, God for ignoring my prayers, and the other adults for feeding me meaningless platitudes."

"Of course, you were inconsolable."

With anguish etched on his face, Lee pushed through his pain. "The minister was just arriving at the funeral home as I was ushered from the premises. He bent down to my level and said something like, 'don't worry, little man; your parents are safe and happy with Jesus.' Then he patted me on the head and told me to be a good boy so someday I could go to Heaven, too."

"Oh, Lord," Amanda said, "I imagine you didn't feel like a good boy at that particular moment."

"You got that right. Model behavior was never my strong suit. The minister's statement only made me cry harder. And, too, I couldn't grasp how my parents could be happy with Jesus if I was left behind and miserable?"

"Exactly."

"Before we made it to the car, other adults appeared and offered more platitudes for my tortured mind. One person told me I should be proud of my mother and father because God needed them in Heaven. Hell, what kind of greedy God snatches parents away from small children?"

Watching the sorrow turn his eyes a grayish-blue, Amanda reached across the table and placed a hand on his cheek. "Lee, I have no words to explain their actions, nor do I have answers to life's toughest questions. However, I do know many people confuse God with life and then end up blaming God for everything bad that happens. Personally, I could never believe in a cruel or indifferent God."

"Cruel, indifferent, impotent - however God is described doesn't mean much to me. In times of tragedy, the all loving and all powerful God proclaimed in churches seems little more than a remote weakling or a worthless thug. I've never been able to reconcile the paradox of good and evil. And if you think about it, the dark world of espionage doesn't bode well for many tidings of great joy."

"No it doesn't," she said, her heart aching for the man so crushed by the weight of unspeakable pain.

"Hey, I'm okay, Amanda," Lee said as he unclenched his fist and patted her hand. "I grew up and accepted the harsh reality of an imperfect world. At some point I decided many of the tough questions are unanswerable in this life. In my opinion, the spiritual realm is shrouded in a veil of mystery."

"I suppose our revival case has stirred up old feelings."

He nodded at the reminder. "Preachers like Reverend Armstrong leave no room for doubts. I find it suffocating to be around people who claim to have all the answers."

Amanda offered a warm smile. "Lee, you're a deep and honest thinker. I can certainly respect your doubts." She paused to study his solemn face. "Questioning doesn't make you an atheist."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just an agnostic who doesn't know what to believe. However, it's not like my emotions are sealed in stone. I recognize the spiritual giants like Jesus and the Buddha, and there are things that strike a chord for me. Hiking through the majestic Alps, the Rockies, and the Blue Ridge Mountains renews my spirit . . . soul . . . psyche . . . or essence - whatever you want to call the deeper me."

She offered a mischievous grin. "Oh, do you get a Rocky Mountain high?"

Lee smiled. "Yeah, something to that effect," he said as his fingers lightly stroked the back of her hand. "Riding a horse, hell for leather, through the red rock country of the southwest also provides me a sense of unbridled freedom and peace. And, too, the universal language of music gives me a spiritual connection that I can't begin to describe."

Astounded by his pure candor, Amanda took both his hands in hers. "Lee, unlike many people, you've done some real soul searching. That counts for more than you realize."

Rising from his seat, Lee grabbed their plates and carried them to the sink. Then as Amanda joined him, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Thanks, partner, for luring me out of my cave."

Surprised by his confession, Amanda's jaw dropped. "Well, you're certainly welcome."

He offered a sheepish grin. "You know, forcing me to talk about the past has helped me get a clearer picture in my head. Maybe I'm not oblivious to a benevolent force in life," he said, holding her gaze. "I just can't define it to suit the parameters of traditional religions, especially when they're so singularly focused on judging who is right and who is wrong, or who is in and who is out."

"I do know, Lee. Tolerance often takes a backseat to arguing over which religion has the whole truth." She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Believe me, Lee, your personal quest is good enough for me, and I think God is just fine with your doubts and questions."

"Yeah," he said with the hint of a dimple evident on his face. "Maybe you're right."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>

*** "Annie's Song" by John Denver**


	5. Chapter 5

**"Turn, Turn, Turn - To Everything There is a Season"**

The pianist pounded out a prelude as folks arrived for the service. Already seated with his partner, Lee scanned the tent's interior and calculated the number of revival worshippers. It was another full house tonight.

Blowing out a wistful breath, he tried to push aside all thoughts of the date he'd canceled for this evening. Thanks to the threat of Armageddon, his dinner with the lovely Leslie O'Connor was postponed indefinitely.

Damn, he hoped there'd be another occasion to date the diplomatic translator. With a top security clearance from the United Nations, Leslie could provide the perfect balance to his life. Given her international experience in Moscow, Paris, Geneva and the Hague, she would understand and appreciate the secret world of an intelligence operative. It shouldn't take the brilliant woman long to guess what he did for a living.

In truth, his taste in women was changing. Of late, ladies with classic beauty and strong intellect were now preferable to the racy airheads he'd been squiring around town for years. Deep down, Lee knew the real reason behind his turnaround. Glancing to his right, he smiled at Amanda. There was no denying that Scarecrow's Mrs. King was responsible for his transformation on the dating scene. Her presence had enriched his life and inspired him to become a better man.

As if aware of his scrutiny, Amanda turned and gazed into his eyes. "I imagine you'd rather be anywhere but here tonight. You probably had dinner plans with a lady friend."

"Well, yes," he answered, surprised that she was reading his thoughts. "There'll be other opportunities." Then nudging her arm, he tried to ease the awkwardness between them. "Hey, I'm in good company tonight."

"Thank you," she said as a smile spread across her face. "I appreciate your companionship, too."

Resting an arm over the back of Amanda's chair, Lee enjoyed the fragrance of her new perfume that wafted in the breeze. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how becoming her hair appeared tonight. The chestnut curls framed her heart shaped face and draped the long column of her neck. Following the trail of perfection, he was transfixed by the freckles and tanned flesh that merged with the scoop neckline of her white, silky dress. Unlike last night, there was no dowdy get-up for this service.

Thankfully he'd had the good sense to give Amanda personal space after dinner. By taking a walk, he'd managed to survey the campground inhabitants and allow her the leisure to shower and dress without him underfoot. The results were stunning.

Running a nervous finger along the tight collar of his shirt, he reflected on the obvious. Amanda King was a beautiful woman. Maybe he should tell her how lovely she looked, but a compliment may misrepresent his intentions as they played out their cover of husband and wife. Amanda was already nervous about sleeping in close quarters with him. He certainly didn't want to imply any changes to their strictly platonic relationship.

"Lee, are you all right?" Amanda looked at him with concern. "You seem so distracted."

He reached over and patted her hand. "I'm okay. I was just, you know, thinking." Giving her small fingers a squeeze, he slowly broke the contact, conscious of how warm and soft her skin felt within his grasp. Aware of his body temperature rising from the slight caress, he coughed and looked away. "It's as hot as blazes in here."

"It'll probably get a lot hotter before Reverend Armstrong finishes his fiery sermon," she teased.

The lilt of Amanda's voice lowered his defenses, and her serene presence relaxed his uptight emotions more than any tropical isle vacation ever could. Closing the gap between them, he whispered in her ear. "I hope the preacher tones down the flaming rhetoric tonight."

Amanda pressed in closer, her warm breath stroking his cheek as she murmured a reply. "The man's passions do run deep."

"Yeah, Armstrong craves excitement," Lee added, vaguely aware of an underlying implication to their exchange. "The guy has a huge appetite for . . ."

Suddenly his words trailed off and hazel eyes locked with brown. Neither one dared to blink while sparks practically flew between them. Fighting against the unspeakable desire, Lee abruptly pulled back as if scorched by a red hot flame.

Obviously flustered by the exhilarating encounter, Amanda averted her eyes. Quickly a bright red crimson flared along her neck and cheeks. Feverishly employing her revival bulletin, she fanned the charged space around them.

"Ah, well," Lee said, groping for words, "we're going to melt in this damn revival tent."

"It is sweltering," she replied in a breathy voice. "Maybe the woodsy campground will cool us off tonight."

"Yeah, we need to escape the blistering heat." Lee's mind railed against his burgeoning attraction to Amanda. Choosing firm boundaries, he laid out plans for their Agency mandated sleep-over. First on his agenda would be a cold shower at the camp bathhouse. Then he'd haul his sleeping bag outside and sleep under the stars.

Hesitantly, Amanda touched his arm. "I'll be right back," she said in her endearing raspy voice. "I need a breath of fresh air."

Lee's eyes followed his partner as she stepped by him and gracefully walked up the aisle. 'What the hell just happened here?' his mind screamed. The woman certainly was the ultimate "black belt confuser." With just a look, Amanda King could tie his emotions in knots. Replaying the incident in his head, Lee barely noticed a shadow darkening his space.

"Howdy, brother."

Lee's head whipped around in surprise. Was someone talking to him? Looking up, he came face to face with the gap tooth grin of a Bible toting giant. At least the guy appeared huge, looming over him from above. Standing up, Lee corrected his estimate. The guy stood at least six feet, six inches and must weigh a generous two hundred and seventy-five pounds.

"Lew is the name. Life Insurance is the game."

Lee carefully categorized all the oddities about the man. He wanted to ask him how he'd gotten a cauliflower ear and a flattened nose. Instead, he played along. "Ah, I'm Leroy Simpson from Salem, Virginia." He held out his hand. "So, you sell insurance?"

"You bet - the eternal kind. Policies for eternity, I call them." He grabbed Lee's hand, pumping it vigorously in the process. "I'm Brother Llewellyn Abel."

"You're a preacher?" Lee stared in disbelief, while he tried to revive his crushed fingers. This guy would be more at home in a boxing ring.

Brother Abel thumped his chest with his enormous fist. "I'm part peddler, part preacher, and part prophet. I go where the Lord sends me." Lew grabbed Lee's left hand and turned it over. "I can always guess a man's calling by his fingers. There's no dirt under your nails; you can't be a farmer or a construction worker."

"Ah, no, not anymore, I lost the farm awhile back." Lee racked his brain. Damn, he hadn't worked out a clear scenario yet. "I guess you could say I'm in . . ."

"Sales," offered Amanda, who managed to materialize at his side. "He sells . . ."

"Caskets," Lee supplied in a rush.

"Bibles," she offered at the same time. They looked at each with disdain.

Lee coughed, allowing Amanda the chance to embellish their story.

"Well," she continued, "Leroy actually sells the Bibles with the caskets - you know for the deceased when they're buried."

Lee's eyes grew wide as she dug them in deeper.

"As you can imagine, many folks want to take a Bible into the next life," she finished lamely.

Llewellyn took a minute to digest their claims. "Well, of course, yes indeed," he finally said. "The Lord's word goes on forever." He extended his hand. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, ma'am."

Her face lit up with a stunning smile. "Amanda Simpson - Leroy's wife. And you are?"

"Abel, ma'am," he returned with a leering grin. "I'm ready, willing and able."

Offended by the man's inappropriate inference, Amanda took an indignant step back. "Well, if you'll excuse us, Mr. Abel, we're going to look for friends."

Lee pulled Amanda protectively against his side as his scowl gave fair warning to Llewellyn. "Next time, Abel, be careful what you say to my wife."

"No offense intended, Leroy." Lew's gold tooth sparkled as he offered a wide grin. "I was just making a joke."

"Yeah, sure." Lee nodded curtly and hurried Amanda toward the exit.

"The nerve of that man," she sputtered. "Did you see the way he looked at me?"

"Amanda, shush."

"Don't shush me. I can't believe that man was so rude."

"Save it, Amanda. We have bigger problems." He grabbed his partner's arms, turning her around until his body stood between her and the crowd.

"Lee, what are you doing?" Pressing her hands against his chest she tried to peer around him. "What exactly do you mean by bigger problems?"

"Amanda, I hate to tell you, but I think your mother just walked in the door."

"Oh, no"

"It gets worse," he hissed, his words pouring out like snake venom.

"Worse?" Clutching the cotton material of his blue pinstripe shirt, she attempted to get another look. "How could anything be worse than having Mother show up?"

"A-man-da, let go." He pried her fingers loose from his clothes. "It just so happens, your mother is accompanying one of the suspicious characters from last night. Remember, I told you about Aggie."

Amanda risked one more peek around Lee's large frame. "Oh my gosh," she groaned, burying her face against his chest.

"What?" He grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake.

"Lee, I don't know anyone named Aggie, but I do know your suspect is none other than Agnes Ferguson, my neighbor."

"Oh, hell." Lee swore under his breath as he rushed Amanda out of the tent faster than a Triple Crown winner at the Belmont Stakes.

"Stop," she pleaded, shaking off the hand that propelled her through the incoming crowd. "Are you going to make me run all the way back to the Airstream?"

"Of course not, Amanda, but we can't stay in there and play hide and seek all night." Shooting his partner an exasperated look, Lee slid his hands over his rumpled clothes. "God, you practically stripped the shirt off my back when you went into your duck and cover routine. Now I'm missing a button."

"I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I didn't have anywhere else to hide." Absently she brushed her hand over the front of his shirt, in a useless attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. "If we go back to the trailer, I can sew on another button."

"Forget it, just forget it." Lee gripped her elbow and led her away from the press of people. "Damn it, Amanda, I can't believe your next door neighbor is the same lady who caught me snooping around the campground."

"And that's not all. Agnes Ferguson saw you with me last night."

Lee took a defensive posture. "You don't know that for sure."

"Oh, but I do. Agnes told Mother I was accompanied by a tall, handsome stranger."

His scowl softened a bit. "Aggie said I was handsome?" Lee could barely hide a boyish grin before his Stetson straight face snapped back into place.

Amanda rolled her eyes, refusing to stroke his already inflated ego. "Yes, Aggie apparently finds you attractive, and she thinks you're a mysterious James Bond type. No wonder Mother is here. She's a big '007' fan."

"Great, that's just great. We certainly don't need two amateur sleuths spying on us." Lee clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "I can't believe you allowed your mother and neighbor to sabotage our case."

"Me? Listen, buster, you're the one who picked up a tail last night." Amanda shook her head, silently preparing the lecture he so clearly deserved to hear. "You know, Lee, this is what happens when you go off on your own without me. If you'd enlisted me as your back-up for your romp around the grounds, I could have identified Agnes Ferguson, and we wouldn't be faced with this debacle."

"And Aggie could have caught you red-handed, too." Defiant, Lee wagged a scolding finger in front of her face. "This isn't my fault, so don't try to pin the blame on me. You do remember whose mother is roaming the tent, looking for her daughter?"

Amanda returned his glare with equal animosity before sensibly deciding to back off. This was not the time or place to challenge the wisdom of the most pigheaded person she'd ever met. Taking a deep breath, she softened her tone. "Lee, there was absolutely no reason to think my mother would show up. Mr. Melrose promised to send agents to stake out Agnes' activity. Obviously they didn't do their jobs. So, if you insist on being annoyed, then be angry with the Agency. The surveillance team dropped the ball on this one."

He opened his mouth as if to object, but apparently thought better of it. After a beat, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, point taken."

Amanda crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. "What is it you want me to do? I can sit in the Airstream all evening, but then you'll have to monitor the entire service alone, plus deal with two snoopy women. Are you ready to have your 'Aggie' introduce you to Dotty West as Amanda King's gentleman friend?"

Lee jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Hell, even I'm not versatile enough to deal with Jeremiah Armstrong, Aggie and your mother, all under the same roof."

"So?" Amanda tried to hide a smile, knowing she had his back to the wall.

Sure enough, he sighed in resignation. "So, I guess you're right. I need you on this one."

Amanda grinned triumphantly. "I'm happy to oblige." She knew she could wear him down if she held her ground long enough.

Sliding his hand through his hair, he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. "Okay, go back to the service and find your mother. No one can get into trouble faster than Dotty West. I'm going to survey the campgrounds and keep an eye out for your neighbor. If my hunch is correct, she's going to be playing detective again tonight."

"But, Lee, if I just waltz back into the tent, Mother will know I'm here."

"Exactly," he replied. Folding his arms across his chest, he dared her to defy him.

Now Amanda was alarmed. "What should I tell my mother? I practically stood on my head convincing her that Agnes saw my double."

"I wouldn't worry," he said with a smirk. "Just tell her the truth. She'll never buy it."

Lee started to take his leave when Amanda called after him. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

He stopped in his tracks, chomping at the bit like a racehorse at the starting gate. "What are you trying to say, Amanda? We don't have all evening to play your guessing games."

"Lee, does this mean we won't be spending the night together?" She bit her lip, realizing her hasty blunder. What must he think? Could she be any more obvious - Amanda King was looking forward to an overnight with Lee Stetson.

He quickly averted his eyes. "Well, yeah." Now he began to squirm. "Look, it's for the best. We'd both find it incredibly uncomfortable and inconvenient, right?"

"Oh, well, of course." Mentally kicking herself, she tried to appear nonchalant. "I just meant to point out that for the sake of the case, we should maintain our cover."

"Amanda, just forget it. From this moment on, 'operation wedded bliss' is over." Taking her hand in his, Lee pulled the Agency issued wedding band from her finger. "We can't have your mother spotting the ring, so let's consider our marriage annulled. When the service ends tonight, just hitch a ride with your neighbor."

* * *

><p><strong>Honor Thy Mother<strong>

Amanda stood in the rear of the assembly, swatting at the mosquitoes that buzzed around her head. If nothing else, the diabolical bugs were creating their own unique version of hell. At this particular moment, she'd willingly sell her soul for a spray can of insect repellant.

Why in the world had she underestimated the family matriarch? She should have known Dotty West would find a way to check out her story, especially since the boys and their little league team were spending the evening at King's Dominion Amusement Park. With long overdue freedom from the home front, her risk-taking mother was ripe for an adventure.

Nervously wringing her hands, Amanda surveyed the huddled mass of humanity that crowded the evening meeting. How would she ever find her mother among the hundreds already seated?

She didn't need to worry for long. Sure enough, the object of her search appeared on the horizon like a funnel cloud barreling down tornado alley. "Oh, boy, here she comes." Mentally bracing herself, Amanda prepared for a stern lecture.

Her mother hurried toward her with a knowing look. Without a word, Dotty made a broad sweep in front of her daughter and circled around her back. "Hmm, five feet, eight inches tall, 112 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, and cute nose - you certainly look like Amanda King."

"Hello, Mother." Amada smiled weakly. "I know you must be angry."

"A double, my foot," Dotty replied, deep hurt etched on her face. "Honestly, darling, I knew Agnes would never confuse you with a look-alike."

Feeling like a truant child, Amanda was ashamed to meet her mother's gaze. "I assume you came with Agnes. Where is she?"

"I can't be concerned about Agnes," Dotty said, refusing to change course. "She's almost as hard to keep track of as my own daughter. Amanda, why would you make up such a cockamamie story?"

"Mother, please, not here." One way or another, she had to squelch this exchange. "Let's take a little walk, shall we?" Steering her mother out of the tent and away from the crowd, she moved her toward a grove of trees. Checking for any extra eyes and ears, Amanda attempted to pacify her indignant parent. "So, I suppose you came all the way to Paris, Virginia to check out my story?"

Dotty nodded with righteous indignation. "Darling, I have a sixth sense when it comes to your litany of excuses. I can recognize the difference between your typical vagueness about your whereabouts and an absolute, boldface whopper. Last night you behaved like you were seven-years-old again, fabricating a story about a fire-breathing dragon who made you late for dinner."

Amanda sighed, feeling appropriately chastised under her mother's hard gaze. "I can understand your disappointment, but I have my reasons."

Dotty shook her head in disbelief. "Amanda, you're a grown woman with children of your own, but that doesn't stop me from worrying about you. I need assurance that you're not in some kind of trouble."

Amanda studied the evening sky, contemplating her limited options. How in heaven's name was she going to make things right and still abide by her national security oath? "I'm sorry," she finally said with sincere regret. "I certainly didn't mean to upset you." She reached for her mother and pulled her into a hug. "Let's sit on the bench, and I'll explain myself."

"Thank you, darling." Not waiting for the explanation, Dotty ventured her own guess. "Amanda, have you gotten yourself involved in some kind of fanatical religious group?"

"No, mother, I can assure you I haven't been swayed by some cult."

"Then are you experiencing an early menopause? I would think a daughter would confide in her mother if she was going through the change."

Amanda laughed. "No, I'm definitely not there yet, and, yes, I would tell you."

"So, why are you here?" A light bulb seemed to go on in Dotty's head. "Are you dating someone who's very religious? Is that why Agnes mentioned your gentleman friend?"

"No, he's not . . . ." Amanda caught herself.

"So, there is someone?" Dotty clapped her hands with delight. "Is your beau here tonight?"

"Mother, no. There really isn't anyone, and I'm sitting by myself tonight." Seeing the parental radar trap, she tried again. "In truth, I was here with a colleague yesterday to start an assignment for IFF. I'm working on a project that relates to religion in America."

"Do you mean a documentary?"

"You could call it that." Amanda fumbled with the contents of her purse, hoping to delay more questioning.

Dotty looked stumped. "Religion in America, you say? Your boss sent you to a rural camp meeting to do a documentary on faith. What's wrong with churches?" The skepticism was quickly taking root again. "Okay, where are the cameras?"

Amanda sighed inwardly. "Well, you see, Mother, the government sometimes gathers information unobtrusively."

Dotty crossed her arms against her chest and held her daughter's gaze. "So, you're telling me the United States government sent you here in secret? Darling, I think you'd better stop renting those James Bond movies. You're starting to sound like a spy."

Deciding to stave off further revealing conjecture, Amanda quickly stood. "Mother, would you like to join me in my research? Let's go into the revival, and you can help me take notes."

Dotty immediately brightened. "I'd love to, darling."

* * *

><p><strong>Leap of Faith<strong>

Amanda's eyes scanned the tent as she searched for Lee among the sea of faces in the congregation. Apparently he hadn't come back inside. Now she was getting anxious about his whereabouts. Going home was not an option until she confirmed for herself that he was safe. Maybe she'd have to spend the night in the Airstream, after all.

"Oh, Lord," Amanda mumbled. The last thing she needed was a pajama party with Lee, especially after she'd breeched his personal space as they waited for the revival to start. No woman should sit next to Scarecrow without enforcing a Stetson-free zone of at least twelve inches. The man gave off more heat than the Mojave Desert at high noon. My gosh, she'd been helpless to control her actions once his magnetic attraction drew her in.

Sighing, Amanda checked her watch and groaned. Now the service had dragged on for fifty-five minutes. In all that time, they'd sat through a medley of Gospel tunes sung by the choir, two lengthy Old Testament readings, the entire New Testament letter of Paul to the Philippians, and three long winded prayers. The faithful followers had also been entertained by the Sleepy Hollow Mother and Daughters Banjo-Harmonica Quartet, and the whistled rendition of "When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder," performed by the Triplet Brothers: Floyd, Lloyd, and Boyd.

Brother Armstrong's colorful, extemporaneous sermon had begun fifteen minutes ago and was nowhere near a conclusion. In all probability he'd continue on for another hour before he revved things up for a rousing finish, wrought with all kinds of dire predictions and warnings that would pressure the crowd to go forward at the closing altar call.

Her mother had lost interest about five minutes into the preacher's rant on the end times. After quietly protesting the man's style and message, Dorothea West made a firm decision about the afterlife. If this bombastic minister was going to be in Heaven, then she simply didn't want to go at all. "Is the service almost over, darling?"

"No, Mother, it's far from over."

Dotty craned her neck and scanned the crowd. "Maybe we'd better try to find Agnes, so we'll be together when it's time to leave."

"Mother, where did you and Agnes park?"

"Park? Oh, didn't I tell you, dear? We'll need a ride home."

Amanda's jaw dropped. "What?" As she blurted out her question, the crowd around them protested with a chorus of shushing. Offering a placating smile to those seated nearby, she continued in a lower tone. "Didn't Agnes drive?"

"No, not tonight," Dotty whispered. "Agnes gave me some song and dance about her car making funny noises. Then she ushered me out her backdoor and had us walk two blocks to catch a taxi."

"Taxi?" Amanda choked. "You paid a taxi driver to take you halfway across Virginia? It must have cost a fortune."

"True, it was expensive," Dotty admitted without an iota of remorse, "but worth every penny. No price is too high when it comes to my only daughter."

"Oh, Mother," Amanda said with a sigh. "And what if I wasn't here or if you couldn't spot me among the multitude of people?"

"I have instincts, darling," Dotty countered with more convoluted logic. "I just knew I'd find you. Besides, this is a religious revival. I took the leap of faith and everything worked out fine. Thankfully, we're together and you can drive us home."

Amanda reached for her mother's hand. "Well, I hate to sabotage your faith, but I'm not the answer to your prayers. Unfortunately, I don't have a car either."

Dotty pulled back in alarm, finally registering her folly. "Amanda, how could you come all the way to Paris, Virginia without your car?"

"Apparently I arrived more easily than you. Someone from International Federal Film dropped me off."

"Dropped you off," Dotty said with an incredulous look. "Darling, what were you thinking? How did you plan to get home?"

"Mother, I guess, like you, I just took that leap of faith." Amanda wrung her hands in dismay. Could things get any more problematic? Surely when she informed her partner of the latest snafu, Lee's temper would ignite like a match to dry leaves.

"Dear, maybe an IFF colleague will return to pick you up. Certainly the slave drivers you call bosses don't want to leave you stranded."

"You know, you're probably right," Amanda said as she grabbed her purse. "Why don't you stay here and take notes? I'll just go search for a phone and try to clarify arrangements for a ride home."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Campground Sleuths**

Lee maneuvered through the racks and tables of spiritual best sellers, trying to escape the persistent predatory female. True to form, Aggie had been on his tail from the moment he encountered her outside "The Alpha and Omega Souvenir Tent." He'd hoped to track her and not vice versa.

"Can't get enough of the Good News?" she called in her sultry voice, just as he ducked behind an elaborate display of delicate crystal angels.

"Damn," he muttered, accidentally bumping the teetering selection of angelic creatures with an errant elbow. In the nick of time, he caught a flying cherub before it crashed to the ground.

"You break it, you bought it." Aggie pointed to the strategically placed sign. "I guess the managers didn't expect someone of your long muscular frame to squeeze into such a small area."

"You got that right." Reaching out a hand to steady the precarious display, he confronted his shadow. "Hello, Aggie. I see you're back for more autographs."

Her gold bracelets jingled on her wrist as she toyed with the ceramic animals perched on a miniature Noah's Ark. "It's not autographs I'm after."

He moved toward her, fearing the slightest misstep would send more religious souvenirs plummeting from their perch. "Then why are you here?"

She crossed her arms in a defensive posture and gave him a long look. "That's exactly the question I'm dying to ask you."

"I asked you first, Aggie." He met her gaze with equal intensity - two could play at the childish game. Studying her inquisitive face, he realized he'd seen her walking a large shaggy dog on Maplewood Drive. No wonder she looked familiar to him last night.

Fluffing her hair with a well-manicured hand, she continued to hold his gaze with her cool blue eyes. "I understand confession is good for the soul."

He took a cautious step back, uncertain of her intent. "So, do you want to unburden your secrets to a member of the clergy or will I do?"

"It's your secrets that keep me awake at night." Her glossy lips relaxed into a winsome grin. "Are you ready to confess?"

Lee sighed, knowing Aggie would try to manipulate their exchange. "Come with me." Placing an hand on her elbow, he guided the scheming woman out of the souvenir tent and across the road to the campground.

Aggie's eyes widened as they approached the Airstream. "Oh, for goodness sake, you have a camper. What do you have in mind for us, big fella?"

"We need some privacy for our conversation." Wary of her indelicate innuendos, he clarified his agenda. "It's just talk - nothing more."

"Well, of course, but while we converse, I can sew a new button on your shirt."

"God, Aggie, you never give up, do you," he said as he ushered her through the door. "Believe me; a button is the least of my worries."

Setting her large shoulder bag on the Airstream countertop, Aggie rummaged through the contents of her purse. "I have a miniature sewing kit and a stash of buttons in here. You shouldn't be running around the revival grounds with your shirt gapping open."

Lee shot her an incredulous look. "Hell," he grumbled, did all suburban women obsess over missing buttons? "Listen, Aggie, it's my trailer, so you'll play by my rules - got it?"

The indomitable Agnes Ferguson ignored him as she threaded a needle. "Come closer," she insisted. "I don't bite."

Before he could object, she stepped forward and slipped her dainty fingers inside the fabric of his shirt. "Now hold still or I'll draw blood."

Sighing heavily, Lee endured the indignity. Briefly he wondered what his partner would think if she walked in on the scene. In truth, Amanda was already annoyed with her neighbor's inclusion in the investigation. He hoped jealousy wasn't about to rear its ugly head in tonight's mad caper.

"Oops," Aggie said as the button slid from her fingers and rolled across the floor. Bending down, she initiated a search for the tiny object.

Lee stooped to join the hunt, but quickly reconsidered his action. Aggie's clumsiness may be a ploy to lure him into a compromising position. Deliberate or not, he wasn't going to crawl around on his hands and knees with a conniving female. Exasperated by the interruption and worried about Amanda and her mother, he stood up and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Psst, psst" came a sound from outside.

His head jerked around as the hissing noise intruded on his thoughts. Peering through the window screen, he met a pair of stormy brown eyes belonging to the object of his ruminations. My God, now Amanda had shown up to fuel his smoldering temper. Glowering at his protégé, he motioned for her to drop out-of-sight.

"Here we go," Aggie crooned as she arose and straightened her skirt. "Let's finish the job, shall we?"

"Ah, no, not now," he said abruptly. "I need to step outside for a moment." Lee tried to make an end run around the feminine defense, but she handily blocked his forward progress.

Waving the sewing needle dangerously close to his face, Aggie managed to secure a grip on the front panel of his shirt. Then with practiced ease, the "snoop turned seamstress" resumed her task.

Lee held his breath, hoping Amanda wasn't witnessing the actions of suburbia's most cunning flirt. Somehow the seductress had skillfully usurped Mrs. King's role as Scarecrow's partner. Hell, he'd never hear the end of this.

"There, all done," Aggie said as she step closer to inspect her handiwork. Sliding her cool fingers over his chest, she pulled her hand from inside his shirt.

Trying to take control, Lee pointed to the dining nook and guided her onto the bench seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check for any unwanted eyes and ears. I don't trust Reverend's Armstrong's ushers. Please, just stay down."

Hurrying outside, he found Amanda sitting at a picnic table, two campsites over from the Airstream. "Sorry, Aggie detained me," he said as he noted her rigid posture.

She silently nodded and reached out a hand to scrutinize his new button. "It doesn't quite compliment the shirt, but it will do."

"A-man-da, don't start."

The annoyed Mrs. King held her head high. "Fine, Lee, I won't demean your actions with a justifiable reprimand."

His jaw clenched with defiance. "Amanda, don't try to pile on the guilt. You certainly realize your sassy neighbor is a menace to the single men of America."

"Oh, so you finally met your match."

Lee glared back at her, but ignored the deliberate dig. Pacing a little, he reined in his temper. "So, are you just checking up on me or is there a problem?"

Refusing to look at him, Amanda stared off into the distance. "As expected, Reverend Armstrong is working himself into a frenzied state, but so far the revival is no worse than last night."

"And, is your mother okay?"

"Yes, Mother thinks she's helping me take notes for a documentary."

"So, what's the emergency?" Still nursing his anger, Lee's voice was harsh. "There's no time for small talk, Amanda. I'm trying to interrogate Aggie."

"Yes, I know. You and your guest put on quite a show," she said in an icy tone. "Your unorthodox methods are a bit risqué, but very entertaining."

"Dammit, Amanda, I'm not encouraging the woman's advances, so don't judge me by your puritanical code of ethics." His scathing words flew from his mouth like blunt force trauma. "By now, you should recognize a soft interrogation when you see one, so don't second guess my tactics."

She reeled back from his verbal attack. "I do understand the situation," she finally replied with a trace of hurt in her voice. "I'm fully aware of Agnes' tendency to flirt."

"Precisely my point." Still fuming, Lee slapped a hand against his thigh. "Now can we please move on? Why the hell are you skulking around the campground?"

Amanda stiffened at his rudeness . "In case you have the slightest interest," she said in a caustic tone, "you should know that Mother and Agnes arrived at the revival in a taxicab."

"What?" Outraged, he roughly swiped a hand through his hair. "Dammit, I can't remember another case that went south so fast?"

"Well, Lee, like it or not, the Maplewood Drive spy ring will need transportation home tonight."

"My God, I can't believe the fiasco you women created."

Amanda scowled at the Stetson zinger, but she held her tongue for a beat. "I don't suppose you'll be willing to loan me the Suburban to transport Agnes and Mother?"

His mouth dropped open in protest, but then he caught himself before he could make matters worse. "Hey," he finally said, releasing a cleansing breath. "I'm sorry. The dilemma is not your fault." Pulling the Suburban keys from his pocket, he handed one set to Amanda. "As soon as I can free myself from Aggie's clutches, I'll unhitch the trailer and park the Chevy by the bathhouse. I don't want your neighbor to recognize the Airstream when you offer the Arlington espionage club a ride home."

"Thanks," she said with a hint of a smile tugging on her lips.

Regretting the tension between them, Lee reached to grasp her hand. "I need a favor. When you have a chance, call Billy and bring him up to speed. He'll need to send reinforcements. Maybe he'll have someone transport me back to the Agency in the morning."

Amanda's eyes darkened with concern as she arose from the picnic bench. "I don't want you stranded here alone."

"I know, but we'll have to wing it tonight." Moving to her side, Lee placed his arm around her waist. "Hey, partner, we've improvised before. We'll figure this escapade out as we go."

Stepping away from his touch, Amanda offered a beguiling smile. "Good luck to the new team."

"What new team?"

Hurrying from the campsite, she called over her shoulder. "You know exactly who I mean - Scarecrow and Mrs. Ferguson."

* * *

><p><strong>Confession is Good for the Soul<strong>

Lee was somber when he seated himself across the table from Aggie. With his game face in play, he tried to set a professional tone. "Okay, miss, let's lay our cards on the table."

"That's missus, by the way," she corrected, placing her hand on his. "I'm divorced with a college-age son. I thought I'd better clarify my status in case you're interested in asking me out on a real date. While playing hide and seek in the woods is fun, I really prefer being wined and dined."

My God, she'd caught him flat-footed. He certainly wasn't expecting her to make a blatant pass. "So, you were a child bride, huh?" he asked, deciding to continue with a soft interrogation. A little banter and hand holding may get her talking. "You appear much too young to have a grown child."

"Well, thank you for the compliment." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "My son's childhood raced by in a flash of joy, but my marriage dragged on with interminable sadness. Now it all seems like someone else's life."

"Yeah, well, a confirmed bachelor like me doesn't know much about family entanglements."

"Bachelor, huh? It's too bad that no one ever tamed you? You'd be quite the catch."

"People like me don't want to be caught." Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he trailed his free hand through his hair. "My single status suits me just fine."

"I bet if the right woman comes along, you'll surrender your freedom." She gave him a Cheshire grin. "What you need is a mature woman, with a youthful look and lots of experience."

"Humph." He shook his head at her boldness. God, Aggie had definitely been around the block when it came to men.

She batted her big blue eyes. "People tell me I'm exotic and mysterious."

"You're definitely a mystery, Aggie," he said, laughing at her persistence. The woman could be an interesting challenge for him if he was on the prowl, but his philandering days were fading into the past. "Now, shall we get down to business?"

Suddenly she turned serious, dropping her alluring female act. "All right, then, let's start with you. I want to know just what kind of career has you prowling revivals. I'm pretty sure you're up to something dangerous."

He shifted uncomfortably, taken aback by her sudden turn around. "Look, Aggie, what I do isn't important. I could be the head of the FBI, a private eye, or a detective from Loudon County. I could also be an IRS investigator or a reporter from the Podunk Herald. All that really matters to me is information, and I think you have plenty."

"That's pretty blunt. I guess there'll be no more tit-for-tat in this strategic exchange." Propping an arm on the table, Aggie rested her chin in her hand as she pinned him with her hard gaze. "Are you responsible for the 'Shoot Out Bug Control' truck parked across the street from my house? I think someone is keeping tabs on me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, keeping his expression neutral.

"Well, my most recent beau is a mystery writer. He incorporated a similar ploy in his book, 'Mayhem and Murder on Main Street'.'"

"What?" This gal was a good match for Amanda and her mother. "You have to be kidding."

"I kid you not," she replied with an indignant shrug. "Men in orange coveralls rang my doorbell twice today. They asked if I was the lady who called about the ants. Maplewood Drive homes haven't had insect problems since last May. If it wasn't a stakeout, what was it?"

"Beats me," he said as he averted his eyes." Mentally, he cursed the Agency for getting bested by a civilian. "If you were under surveillance, then how did you get away?"

"Obviously you don't live in the suburbs. I take it you're not familiar with neighborhood backdoors and backyard fences."

"Very clever. I'm impressed."

She studied him intently for a moment. "How do you know Amanda King?"

"I'm sorry, who?" The Scarecrow façade snapped firmly into place.

Aggie narrowed her eyes, obviously not buying his feigned ignorance. "I'm referring to the tall brunette I saw you with last night. You two appeared to be pretty chummy, sitting arm to arm."

"If you're referring to the lady seated next to me in the revival, then it was purely coincidental. Yes, she was attractive and friendly, but there was nothing more to it. You know her, huh?"

"Yes, so you should appreciate my surprise when I saw the two of you leave together. I feel protective of the young mother and her boys." Aggie's finely sculptured brows disappeared behind her bangs as she pressed her point.

He was determined to shield Amanda's Agency status at all costs. "Well, stop worrying. We simply left at the same time. Neither one of us liked the preacher or his message."

"Yes, and if I believe that, you'll try to sell me vacation property in a Mississippi swamp." Crossing her arms against her shapely frame, she locked eyes with his. "She's my neighbor, so I'm naturally concerned about her."

"Neighbor, huh?" Despite his best efforts to stonewall, she managed to make him blink. "Don't worry, I didn't ask her out on a date."

"Good, Mrs. King isn't your type anyway." Her hand breezed between them with a dismissive wave. "In threatening circumstances, she'd be scared of her own shadow. Amanda is a devoted mother and civic volunteer, but she's most definitely sheltered by suburbia."

"Yeah, well, I don't date naïve, wholesome housewives, so end of discussion." He coughed and looked away, inwardly smiling at his personal knowledge of his brave and resourceful colleague.

"So, tell me, Aggie, why are looking for danger, excitement and intrigue among the sinners, the seekers and the self-righteous?"

Sighing softly, her air of confidence seemed to deflate a bit. "Actually, my reasons for attending the camp meeting are very complicated."

"You don't seem like the revival type," he said, fishing for more insight.

She smiled at his assumption. "In truth, as a teenager and young adult, I enjoyed some wonderful camp meetings that took the spiritual high road. My grandfather was a well educated and respected clergyman who wanted his only grandchild to hear the great preachers. Together we visited the tabernacles at Ocean Grove, New Jersey; Chautauqua, New York; and Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts."

"I'm impressed," Lee said with a nod of affirmation. "Apparently the clergy you met in the past didn't treat you like another notch on a gunslinger's gun."

"No, they didn't see me as one more soul to add to their list of accomplishments. Unfortunately, Reverend Armstrong manipulates the crowd through intimidation, and then he basks in his power of persuasion."

Lee nodded. "Armstrong expects his followers to check their brains at the door."

"Yes," Aggie agreed, "Jeremiah wants his converts to swallow his 'end of the world' threats without second guessing him. However, I believe it's healthy to have doubts. Faith should be coupled with reason."

Lee felt his tension drain away. Finally he was on the same page with Amanda's neighbor. "So you're not buying what he's selling."

"Absolutely not." Aggie leaned forward in her seat and pressed her ruby red lips together in a tight line. "In fact, I was forced into this little escapade by necessity. I think Brother Armstrong has a more sinister agenda than salvation."

"What kind of agenda?"

"I have a dear aunt who was following his rallies. She was deeply offended by his threats toward other religions and his harsh judgment on more open-minded Christians. At first, she just wanted to check out the services, but I'm afraid she eventually gave him a piece of her mind."

"And you think she got into trouble for speaking truth to power?" He drummed his fingers on the table, trying not to tip his hand.

"Exactly, but it's more complex than that."

"How is it complicated?"

"Well, Officer Simpson . . . ."

"Call me, Lee."

She smiled warmly. "Well, Lee, if you think I'm a nosy female, I can assure you I come by it honestly. My aunt's propensity to snoop may have opened the lid to Pandora's box."

"So, at some point she crossed the line with Armstrong and his cronies?" Watching Aggie carefully, he noticed her strong demeanor fading as her secret came to light.

"My aunt monitored the revivals for several days," she continued in a raspy tone. "She was searching for evidence of corruption and apparently got caught spying.

"Did anyone harm her?"

"Not that I could immediately discern. However, my aunt came back from the experience a changed person."

"What was different?" Noticing Aggie's trembling hands, Lee reached across the small table to grasp her arm.

She smiled at his gesture and relaxed her rigid posture. "Well, her memories were fuzzy, and she seemed terribly frightened. In fact, paranoid would be a better word."

"Frightened of what?"

"Me, visitors, anyone - she just seemed very skittish. Actually, she wasn't herself at all."

"What else," he prodded. "Every small detail is very important."

Aggie sighed, apparently struggling with her revelation. "Call it instinct, but I had a gnawing suspicion that my aunt was hiding something. As her behavior became more erratic, I planned to take her to her doctor."

"And did you?"

"Well, no, I never got the chance," she said with a guilty look. "Before I could take action, her summer cottage exploded, and she landed in the hospital, unable to tell anyone anything."

"And your aunt's name would be what?" he asked, certain of the reply.

"Hattie … Hattie Henderson."

Lee let out a harsh breath. "I should have known."

"Known what?"

He hesitated before responding. "Hattie Henderson's so-called accident is one of the reasons I'm here. The incident is under investigation." Grabbing her hand, Lee rose from his seat and pulled her with him. "This is far more dangerous than you can imagine, Aggie. You need to leave the investigation to the professionals."

"What are you talking about? What professionals?"

"That's need-to-know, but you can trust me. I'm one of the good guys." Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, Lee ushered Aggie through the door of the Airstream. "Don't discuss our conversation with anyone."

"Of course not."

"I know you came with a friend tonight, so I want you to find her and vacate the premises as soon as the service is over. Don't come looking for me again."

"But Lee," she protested as he hurried her through the campsite. "I can help."

"No, absolutely not," he said with an emphatic shake of his head.

A sudden rustling noise halted his forward movement. Stepping in front of his charge, he called into the dark woods. "Is someone there?"

"Howdy, neighbor," a voice responded from the shadows. "Are you having a private prayer meeting or just cheating on the missus?"

"Missus?" Aggie questioned.

"Please, not now, Aggie."

Bubba Bliss ambled across the road with his growling hound dog straining on his leash. "I didn't figure you to be the revival type, Leroy."

"Hello, Bubba," Lee said evenly. "Walking the beast, I see."

"How many babes did you come with tonight?" Bubba's one track mind seemed stuck in his single train of thought.

"Ah, Mr. Bliss. Let me introduce my sister."

"The dame's no sister to you," Bubba said with a smirk. "She may be a bit older than your wife, but she's a real looker. I bet you were in there having a quick . . ."

"Listen, buddy," Lee warned, itching to give the guy a knuckle sandwich.

Bubba's inane grin spread across his face. "Maybe you'd like to introduce your sister to Brother Armstrong's staff." Motioning over his shoulder, the abrasive Bliss pointed to a car, poking along the campground road.

Exiting the vehicle, two men moved confidently toward the group. They were decked out in the black trademark usher garb - neatly pressed suits, polished shoes, and white carnations in their lapels. They were also clearly armed and dangerous.

"So this is the couple spying on our operation," one of Armstrong's henchmen said as he stuck the barrel of his revolver into Lee's side. "You'll both have to come with us."

Lee winced as he was roughly pushed toward the car. Trying to break free, the butt of a shot gun rammed him in the stomach. Doubling over, he watched helplessly as Aggie was shoved into the backseat. "Leave her," he yelled, still gasping for air.

Quickly two pairs of hands bound and gagged him. Then dragged to the back of the vehicle, Lee was unceremoniously dumped into the trunk. Shrouded in darkness, his world narrowed to unrelenting pain as the car bumped along the gravel road.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - Sinking Sand**

_**. . . ."On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand" . . . . **_

A distant chorus of voices nudged Lee back to consciousness. "Mmm," he moaned as his body slowly awakened to agony. Pitched forward at a painful angle, his chin rested awkwardly against his chest. Biting on the cloth that gagged his mouth, he tasted blood on his lips and tongue.

Peering through bleary eyes, Lee surveyed his sparse surroundings. By all appearances, he was alone in a small cabin. The room was stifling, making it difficult to breathe. He was awash in perspiration that dripped from his nose and sideburns and soaked the front of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. The whine and swoosh of a squeaky ceiling fan was his only reprieve from the oppressive heat.

Through the window, he glimpsed remnants of the fading sunset as it peeked through the dark woods and cast long shadows on the knotty pine walls. In the distance, flickering lights and rousing music reminded him of the rural campground setting.

Giving his head a shake, Lee struggled to form a coherent thought in his muddled brain. Memories of his ordeal were scattered - the revival, a beating, an interrogation. Names and faces were a blur, but the image of Amanda held steady, giving him a focal point to orient his thoughts. He had to get the hell out of here and find her.

Empowered by the sense of urgency, he fought the restraints that bound him securely to a ladder-back chair. Twisting against the ropes, he soon realized he was only rubbing flesh from his wrists and ankles in a useless attempt to free his hands and feet. He'd have to maneuver himself across the room and search for a sharp object.

With a rocking motion, Lee slowly bounced his chair toward a table by the window. Panting breathlessly with the effort, he labored toward his destination. Finally close enough, he leaned sideways, allowing his chair to fall hard against the table. "Oomph." Pain shot through his arm as he bore the bruising impact with his shoulder.

Running his fingers along the rough wood, Lee sought a barbed surface. When the splintered edge of a table leg sliced into his flesh, he began the tedious task of sliding the rope back and forth until it started to fray. By sheer will, he kept up the motion, finally snapping the tight bindings apart. Slipping his bloodied wrists from their restraints, he reached to untie his ankles, now so numb he could hardly feel his feet.

Removing his gag, he swiped a hand through his hair. "Ouch." Lee winced as he pulled his fingers away from the goose-egg welt that protruded from his scalp. God, the thugs had spared no mercy when they pummeled his entire body. Of even more concern were his disorientation and the heavy feeling in his limbs. In all likelihood he'd been hit with some kind of drug.

Fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea, Lee managed to hoist himself into a standing position. Pausing to catch his breath, he weighed his options. He could either await the return of his captors, or he could press on and try to traverse the one hundred yards or so to the tent. He opted for the latter, hoping that he could find Amanda before someone else found him. Following the sound of the old hymns, he lurched into the night.

_**- "Rescue the perishing . . . care for the dying . . . snatch them in pity from sin and the grave."-  
><strong>_  
>With a Herculean effort, Lee trudged toward the camp meeting, barely staying on his feet as he moved from tree to tree. From the volume of singing, he anticipated quite a crowd. It would take a major effort to find Amanda among the mass of people.<p>

**_- "Rescue the perishing, duty demands it . . . strength for their labor, the Lord will provide." -_ **

The music was growing louder, causing a throbbing behind his eyes as he drew closer to his goal. He was going to have one hell of a headache before the night was over.

With his heart pounding, Lee somehow reached the tent. Grabbing onto a thick support pole, he scanned the rows and rows of worshipers. The visual search failed miserably. He'd never spot Amanda in this mob.

"Come - just as you are," summoned the preacher.

Lee watched, mesmerized as scores of people left their seats and streamed toward the altar. Maybe this could work, after all. If he headed to the front, Amanda may spot him.

Forcing his inebriated body to move, Lee joined the throng and staggered toward the railing. Converging rows of the faithful pressed against him in their steady procession down the aisles. Helpless to control the momentum, he was swept along by the tide of humanity surging toward the altar. Finally stumbling against the rail, his arms grappled for purchase.

"Lord, save this soul tonight," Reverend Armstrong prayed as his hands clasped the broad Stetson shoulders and forced him to his knees.

Lee's muscles tensed against the intrusion, but his weak resistance was no match for the strength of the burly minister. Instantly his knees buckled, slamming him against the railing. "A-man-da," he moaned.

And suddenly she appeared. "Lee, I'm here," she whispered against his ear. Leaning over him, her warm breath caressed his bruised cheek and her cool fingers stroked his throbbing brow. "Hang on, sweetheart. Just hang on."

Reassured by her presence, Lee reached for her hand and claimed it as his salvation.

Dropping to her knees, Amanda pressed her side close to his. "We'll play along until the hymn is over."

The choir continued its medley. _**"Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness, chords that were broken will vibrate once more."  
><strong>_  
>Sagging against his devoted partner, he trembled uncontrollably.<p>

"Lee, are you all right?"

"No," he rasped, his mouth so dry he could barely say the word. A dark sense of foreboding gripped his mind. Somehow he had to warn her. "Get us out of here, Amanda, before Armstrong's thugs grab us."

"It's going to be okay," she assured him as she draped an arm across his shoulders. "We're going now."

Another hand touched his back, and he heard a feminine voice he couldn't quite place.

"Amanda, what are you doing?"

"Mother, he's hurt. Please help me."

"Mother?" he mouthed. It must be Dotty West.

"We have to try to get him up," Amanda instructed. "Now lift on the count of three - one, two, three."

He felt his legs give leverage as he pushed against the railing. Then with both women tucking an arm around his waist, he miraculously rose and put one foot in front of the other. Locked together, they maneuvered through the crowd toward a side exit. With the strains of another hymn filling the tent, the faithful threesome disappeared into the sacred cover of night.

_**"Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms . . . Safe and secure from all alarms . . . Leaning on the everlasting arms."**_

* * *

><p><strong>Lean on Me When You're Not Strong<strong>

"Amanda, why are we getting into a trailer?" Struggling to support the sagging frame of the very docile one hundred and eighty pound man, Dotty was beside herself. She was clearly at her wits end with their 'Good Samaritan' effort. "What are you doing with a recreational vehicle, anyway? Two years ago, it was a motorhome showing up in our driveway, and now you produce an Airstream."

"Mother, we don't have time to argue." Holding up a set of keys, she pointed out the identification. "See, the tag says Leroy Simpson. He asked me to bring him to his trailer. Now let's get him inside and lay him down."

"I think we should call an ambulance," Dotty said as they helped Lee through the door and eased him to the sofa bed. "Mr. Simpson has been in some kind of accident."

"Let's check him over and offer some first aid before we decide about a hospital." Amanda shook her head in disbelief. The whole evening was positively surreal. It must have taken an act of God to bring the three of them together at the exact same moment in time. Now she'd have to tap dance around her mother's inquisition while she tended to her partner and planned an escape from the campground.

"Mother, there are some clean dish towels by the sink. Would you wet a couple, please? And check the cabinets for medical supplies."

"I'll keep her busy," Amanda murmured to Lee. "If she's distracted, I can tend to you."

"Uh, huh," he replied, more dazed than aware.

Noting his precarious position, Amanda maneuvered his body, trying to straighten him out.

"Oh, God," he moaned, wincing in pain when she repositioned his legs.

"Sorry, Lee." Was there any place she could touch him without inducing agony?

"Amanda," Dotty called from the sink, "you certainly seem at home in this trailer. Are you sure, it's not yours?"

"Mo-ther, of course it's not mine."

In a frenzy of motion, Dotty opened and closed cupboards.

Relieved that her mother was occupied, Amanda gently examined Lee's face and head. "Someone certainly went to great pains to rearrange Leroy Simpson's handsome features. There are cuts along your brow and hairline that may need stitches. Your nose is swollen and your left cheek is badly bruised. And to finish off your new look, there are lovely shiners blooming around both eyes. Can you tell me who used you as a punching bag?"

"Ushers," he rasped through gritted teeth. "Bubba Bliss was there, too."

"But why did they come after you?"

"They're onto us. They suspect we're spying on their operation."

Amanda absently ran a hand through his hair.

"Ouch," he yelped, as she found the knot in his scalp.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Pulling her hand away, Amanda pressed for me information. "Lee, where is Agnes?"

"They grabbed her, too," he said, his voice filled with remorse. "When we left the trailer, the thugs came at us with guns. They dumped her in the backseat of a car and threw me in the trunk. I never saw her again."

"Oh, Lee, that's awful."

Tugging on her hand, he tried to get up. "Amanda, we can't stay here. We have to escape before the revival ends."

"I know; we'll leave soon," she said, holding his shoulders down. "Once the music stops the campground will be flooded with worshippers and ushers." With a sense of urgency, Amanda resumed her examination with a little too much vigor.

As she probed his chest, Lee recoiled from her touch. "Amanda, stop."

"I'm sorry, but I need to get a better look." Determined to catalog his injuries, she worked the buttons of his shirt until she exposed his chest. Carefully running her fingers across his ribs, she pressed gently. "Does this hurt?"

"Oh, God, yes," he groaned.

Continuing to trace a path across his flesh, she felt a blush move up her neck. She wondered if he was affected by her touch. It certainly seemed rather intimate to her mind. Taking a peek at his face, she saw him watching her intently. At least he wasn't objecting.

Shaking off her fleeting embarrassment, she opened the cuffs of his shirt and pushed the sleeves up his arms. "There're several bruises here. I think they're needle marks. You probably have drugs in your system."

"Yeah, I figured that out. My brain feels like it's been fried."

"Okay, here you go, darling." Dotty suddenly materialized with an armload of first aid items. "I also brought ice."

"Thank you." Amanda deliberately positioned herself between her mother and Lee, hoping to conceal her patient from prying eyes. Securing the ice pack against his injured scalp, she tried to reassure him. "I'll be gentle."

As she dabbed at the blood along his hairline, Lee closed his eyes and drifted off. He grew so still, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness. Lord, she hoped he didn't have a concussion, too.

"Darling," Dotty interrupted, startling Lee to wakefulness. "Your stint as a Cub Scout den mother paid off in spades. You certainly know how to patch-up every kind of wound."

"Being a mother of two rough and tumble boys taught me a lot about wound care."

Dotty bumped against her daughter's back, trying to get a better look at the proceedings. "It occurred to me that Mr. Simpson looks a little like our new neighbor down the street."

"Who would that be?" Amanda asked, not wanting to go where her mother was going.

"Darling, you know perfectly well that I'm referring to Mr. Sampson, the neighborhood hunk.

"Oh, yes, I do remember the new single man down the street."

"Really, Amanda, don't play dumb with me." Turning her attention to their patient, Dotty changed tactics. "Mr. Simpson, did you by any chance rent the Cooperman house on Maplewood Drive?"

"Ah, no," he said, his face a mask of confusion.

"Mother," Amanda cautioned, "I think you have the wrong person."

"Well, darling, Simpson and Sampson sound so much alike, I thought maybe we'd gotten his name mixed-up. Don't you see the resemblance? They both have very strong profiles."

"Sorry, Mother, I can't compare the two men - you know, feature for feature."

Dotty tried to peer over Amanda's shoulder. "It's hard to see the similarity tonight, but there's something vaguely familiar about you, Mr. Simpson. Do you have good posture?"

"Huh?" Lee stared back at her as if she was speaking Portuguese.

"Come to think of it," Dotty continued, ignoring his feeble response, "I haven't seen Mr. Sampson lately. What a shame. I had so hoped we could ask him to dinner."

Amanda rolled her eyes, while nodding in agreement. "That would be nice, Mother, but I think Mr. Sampson has vacated the Cooperman house."

"Honestly, darling, what man would move into a house one month and then be gone the next? It's too bad," Dotty lamented. "The sight of that gentleman picking up his morning paper made me look forward to my daily jog."

Amanda laughed. "You're right about that. I think Mr. Sampson's presence inspired a lot of Maplewood Drive women to take a morning run."

"Well, when we get home, dear, I think we should investigate the whereabouts of Mr. Sampson. One minute the man drops into the neighborhood like some extra terrestrial being and then suddenly vanishes into thin air."

"Mother, I think we'd better leave it alone. There could be any number of reasons for his disappearance . . . I mean absence."

"See, that's just what worries me," Dottie said with motherly certitude. "You lack curiosity, darling."

"I know, Mother, but, for now, let's just put the Cooperman tenant to bed . . . ah, I mean, let's put the subject to rest."

Dotty shook her head in defeat. "It's your life, Amanda. Far be it from me to interfere with my daughter's choices. I just think you need to take some risks . . . look for some excitement."

"Yes, well, I think we have all the excitement we can handle right now." Amanda was determined to put the brakes on her mother's runaway observations. "It's time for the three of us to hit the road."

Dotty held out a red and white bottle. "Maybe before we go, you should give Mr. Simpson some Tylenol for his aches and pain."

"Good idea, Mother."

Amanda emptied two pills into the palm of her hand and reached an arm under Lee's shoulders. "Do you think you can sit up a little?"

Lee managed to raise his head and brace himself with his elbows.

Dotty reappeared with a glass of water in hand. "Here you are, Amanda." Handing over the offering, she hastily began gathering up the first aid items.

Placing the tablets on Lee's tongue, Amanda held the glass to his lips. As droplets of water traced a path down his chin, she wiped his face with her fingers. "There you go," she said as she eased him back down. "That should relieve some of your pain."

Lee studied her intently and reached to close his large hand around her arm. "Thanks." Silently, his eyes conveyed messages of trust and affection that he'd never put into words.

Amanda flinched at the honesty in his open face. He looked totally vulnerable with his Scarecrow façade in taters and his upper body laid bare. Unmasked, Lee Stetson's raw need reached straight to her soul.

Flustered by their unspoken exchange, she hastily buttoned his shirt. Then laying a hand against his cheek, she gazed into his hazel eyes one more time.

"So, are you ready, darling?" The spell was broken as Dotty inserted herself into their private moment.

Taking a calming breath, Amanda turned to address her mother. "It's time to transport our patient to the hospital. I think he needs to be checked for broken bones and a concussion."

Grabbing her purse, Dotty suddenly balked. "Oh dear God, we forgot all about Agnes. I have to find her. She'll need a ride home."

Amanda looked at Lee in alarm.

He struggled to turn his head toward Dotty. "Ah, no," he said, his voice rough with pain. "I saw Mrs. Ferguson leave. She found a ride with someone else."

"Oh, that woman," Dotty complained. "She probably attracted a new beau tonight."

"Let's hope not." Amanda sighed, wondering if Agnes' latest interest was a certain secret agent. Shaking off her discomfiture, she quickly grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and gingerly spread it over Lee's long form. "We're going to get you out of here," she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Lee's expression was filled with unasked questions as he barely managed a weak nod.

Heading for the door, Amanda made one last request. "Please hang on tight, just in case our ride gets a little rough."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>

**Hymn References: **"My Hope is Built," written by Edward Mote in 1834, "Rescue the Perishing," written by Fanny Crosby in 1869, "Leaning On the Everlasting Arms," written by Elisha A. Hoffman in 1887


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - Exodus**

Amanda studied the woodsy surroundings, searching for any suspicious activity before fleeing the Happy Endings Campground with a dubious Dotty at her side and an injured Lee in tow. Satisfied that they were alone, she paused to scan the brilliant star-studded sky. Staring into the vast universe, she summoned a dose of courage. "Okay," she murmured, "just be positive, use common sense, and stay alert."

Climbing into the Chevy Suburban, Amanda secured her seatbelt and brought the engine to life. "Here we go, Mother," she announced to her reluctant side-kick.

"I hope you know what you're doing, darling."

Amanda offered a tight smile. Taking it nice and easy, she got the trailer rolling at a safe, sensible speed. Adjusting to the feel of the road, she slowly picked-up steam as they left the loose gravel of the campground and turned onto the smooth blacktop of the county highway.

"So far, so good," Dotty said, giving Amanda an enthusiastic two thumbs up. "Your take-charge attitude is impressive, darling. I admire your composure when faced with new challenges."

"Beginner's luck," Amanda said, not wanting to admit her apprehension.

Oblivious to her daughter's tense grip on the steering wheel, Dotty chatted non-stop. "I should never underestimate your talents. I mean, look at you, darling; you're taking to the road like a master chef to a gourmet kitchen, and you've never pulled a trailer in your life. Why just the other day, I told Agnes, 'my Amanda has always been a quick study.' Well, maybe not when you were younger. I guess driving was not your strong suit in high school, but look at you now. Your father would be so proud."

Amanda laughed. "I really gave Daddy a run for his money when I got my learner's permit."

Dotty cringed. "I think your father's hair turned gray overnight when you stripped the gears on his baby blue, Ford Mustang convertible. He never did let you drive a stick shift again."

"No, and I'm afraid more recent attempts failed miserably, too." Checking the side view mirror, Amanda noted a vehicle gaining on them. Giving the Chevy more gas, she accelerated to the posted speed limit.

"A-man-da," Dotty admonished, grabbing for the armrest. "Aren't you going too fast?"

"I'm only doing fifty-five," Amanda replied, briefly taking her eyes off the road to give her mother a confident smile. The slight distraction was all it took for the Airstream to swerve dangerously over the center line.

"Look out, darling," Dotty warned as their trailer zig-zagged around a curve.

"Oh my gosh." Amanda instantly realized her mistake. With a quick correction, she overcompensated, whipping the unit in the opposite direction. Back and forth they jostled, like an amusement park "Tilt-A-Whirl."

Dotty braced her hands on the dashboard. "Please, darling, slow down. It's better to get Mr. Simpson to the hospital alive and in one piece."

"You're right, Mother. I have to factor Leroy's injuries into my driving. I'll slow down."

Dotty studied her daughter for a beat. Offering a wry smile, she raised an eyebrow in question. "So, seriously, dear, do you expect me to believe that you and Mr. Simpson never met before tonight? I'm not blind; I saw the connection between you two. Is this the beau that Agnes told me about?"

"No, Mr. Simpson is definitely not my beau." Amanda squirmed under her mother's scrutiny. Fortunately, with Scarecrow's handsome features temporarily marred and his physical prowess thrown off kilter, her mother would never be the wiser if a dapper Lee Stetson ever showed up at their front door. "I can assure you, my relationship with Leroy Simpson is strictly business."

"Yes, and I'm the Easter Bunny," Dotty murmured under her breath. "Well, maybe you two choose to ignore the obvious, but I detect a mutual attraction. Some people just have that special chemistry."

"Mother, believe me, Leroy and I have very little in common. In truth, we bump heads at the slightest provocation." Against her better judgment, Amanda continued to indulge her mother's curiosity. "However, Leroy Simpson is a wonderful teacher, so I'm lucky to be assigned as his assistant on occasion."

"What a shame that you two don't work together on a regular basis."

"Actually Leroy's unique skills are in demand all over the world. IFF had to do a lot of fancy persuading to obtain his expertise for the 'Religion in America,' documentary."

"Is Mr. Simpson married?" Dotty asked, bringing up her favorite topic of conversation.

"No, Mother, he's a confirmed bachelor, and he meets and dates a lot of glamorous women on his travels."

"I imagine he's quite popular at IFF, too."

Amanda laughed at the understatement. "Yes, the man turns a lot of heads."

"Apparently he's not the suburban dad type," Dotty replied, looking a bit deflated. "Without a family, why would a man purchase a recreational vehicle?"

"Actually IFF owns the Airstream, so my supervisor asked Mr. Simpson to drop me off at the revival."

"Oh, so, Mr. Simpson was planning to spend the night in the campground. What about you, Amanda? Were you anticipating a sleep-over?" Crossing her arms in expectation, Dotty allowed a pregnant pause as her daughter fidgeted in place. "Come to think of it, darling, you were rather vague about when you would return home tonight."

"Mother," Amanda rasped. "I definitely intended to call you when my schedule was confirmed."

"Uh huh." Dotty shook her head, clearly skeptical of her daughter's claims. "By all appearances Mr. Simpson already confirmed his plans. A fully equipped trailer and a lovely secluded setting would provide ample opportunity for intimacy and romance. What more could he want than a single room, a table for two and a beautiful co-worker?"

Amanda nearly choked. "Mo-ther, I'm not the type of person to have an assignation. You know me better than that."

"Do, I, darling? Sometimes, you're a complete mystery. You get strange phone calls in the middle of the night, and you run out the door for some crisis nearly every day of the week. Honestly, your film company has more emergencies than a major medical center?"

Amanda weighed her words carefully. "Mother, I understand how confusing my life must seem, but you need to trust me. I'm still a person of high moral character."

"Of course you are, dear, but you're also a vibrant young woman who deserves the love of a good man. Take some advice from a woman who lost the love of her life far too early in a satisfying marriage. You have to put yourself out there again and learn to live a little."

"I promise you, Mother, if and when the man of my dreams declares his undying love, I will listen to my heart."

"Good for you, Amanda." Dotty leaned across the console and kissed her daughter's cheek. "Sometimes I need the reassurance that you're not pining for a lost love."

"Mother, when it's over, it's over. I'm definitely not longing for Joe anymore."

Turning her attention back to the road, Amanda cringed at the latest predicament. There was definitely a vehicle right on the trailer bumper. "I think I'll pull over and let the bully pass." Slowing the Chevy, she eased onto the wide shoulder. To her horror, the car behind her slowed, too. It could only mean one thing. She had a tail.

"Hold on, Mother." Increasing the speed, the Suburban strained to pull the hefty load. Amanda bit her lip in frustration. Poor Lee, she should know better than to plan an escape with a travel trailer teethed to the Chevy hitch. Didn't the ride from hell, two years ago, teach her anything? Fleeing from Donahue Dam in the Vigilant, with a wounded Lee barking orders, had left an indelible imprint on her psyche. Their Agency issued, deluxe motorhome may have come with all the extras, but even armed missiles were no match for crack-pot terrorists and the United States Army.

Continuing to travel on the road's shoulder, the Airstream leaned precariously to the right as it bounced with teeth rattling jolts. "Hold onto your hat," Amanda squealed, fighting to keep the trailer from rolling over.

The wild ride continued unabated. Outside the window, looming obstacles came and went as the trailer sideswiped everything in its path. Nothing was sacred. Three road signs, two mailboxes, and a lone fruit and vegetable stand were all clipped by the cumbersome house on wheels.

Terrified for Lee, Amanda searched for a smooth surface to reenter the highway. If her partner survived this fiasco, he'd probably never speak to her again. Nothing made Scarecrow crazier than bumbling women drivers.

"Can't you just stop this thing?" Dotty hollered, trying to be heard above the deafening racket.

"No, Mother. It's too risky."

"Darling, you're going to get us killed. Nothing is riskier than death."

Desperate, Amanda swerved to the left, hoping for the best. This time the Chevy and trailer lumbered over a jarring bump and rolled reluctantly onto the roadway, miraculously landing upright with all wheels turning in sync. Breathless, she smiled at her mother. "See, everything's okay now. We're back in our lane."

"Amanda, nothing about this ride is okay." With a loud huff, Dotty settled back against the headrest. Before she could relax, the sound of shots pierced the quiet countryside. "Oh, no. What now?"

"Maybe a truck backfiring." Amanda feigned calm. She certainly didn't want to terrify her mother, but she was sure it was gunfire. Suddenly, a spray of bullets tore along the trailer's outer shell. "Mother, get down!" Amanda hunched down in her seat, barely seeing the road over the steering wheel.

Convincingly horrified, Dotty leaned forward and covered her head. "Good Lord, dear. What have you done to provoke all this road rage?"

"I haven't done anything wrong, Mother, but someone thinks I'm guilty of something." Checking the side view mirror, Amanda noticed a string of vehicles lined up behind the trailer. Apparently reinforcements had joined the chase.

Out of nowhere, wailing sirens and flashing lights bombarded the night. Dotty looked up with relief. "Finally, the police are here to stop the madness. Unfortunately, they probably want to give you a ticket, darling."

"Not so fast, Mother. We can't be sure who will appear." Cruising to a stop, Amanda ventured a look out the driver's side window. The cars that came alongside were unmarked, and the men walking toward them didn't appear to be police officers. Spotting black suits and white carnations, Amanda immediately identified the garb of the campground ushers. She didn't have to think twice. "Hang on, Mother." Stepping on the gas pedal, she pulled away just as a meaty hand reached for her door handle.

Dotty tightened her seatbelt and clutched her daughter's shoulder with a death grip. "Amanda," she cried, "have you taken leave of your senses?"

Behind them, screaming sirens assaulted their eardrums as the revival posse doggedly continued the chase. Ahead of them, red lights flashed at a railroad crossing, and in the distance a whistle sounded a macabre warning. "Oh, Lord, not a train," Amanda cried.

"Darling, stop!"

"Mother, if I hit the brakes now, we'll collide with a speeding train. Long trailers don't stop on a dime."

"Oh, dear God," Dotty cried as she covered her eyes.

With everything to lose, Amanda made her fateful decision. Slamming her foot on the accelerator, the Chevy hurtled downhill. Plowing through the crossing gates and over the railroad tracks, the beast of burden pulled it's gargantuan load.

Just as the Suburban cleared the crossing, the Airstream faltered, still short of the goal. "Oh my gosh, the trailer's straddling the tracks." In a last ditch effort, Amanda pushed the gas pedal to the floor. "Come on, come on," she pleaded. The Chevy groaned and shuddered, but the trailer refused to budge.

The train whistle blared another protest as it continued to rumble along the tracks, straight toward disaster.

"Get out now," Amanda ordered her mother.

"But, darling," Dotty protested. "Mr. Simpson. . . "

"Just run," she shouted. Acting purely on instinct, Amanda leaped from the vehicle and raced onto the tracks. By God, she couldn't abandon her partner to such an awful fate.

Praying for a miracle, she yanked on the Airstream door. "Aaah," she gasped as a dazed Lee teetered in the entryway.

"Amanda, what the hell . . .?"

Hastily, she wrapped an arm around him and latched onto his belt. Then empowered by a surge of adrenaline, she maneuvered Lee down the steps and over the tracks.

With the ground shaking beneath their feet, his legs gave way, and they stumbled on the outer rail. Down they went, falling forward, but failing to clear the crossing.

As the brakes squealed and the engine filled their line of sight, Lee summoned his remaining strength. Hugging his partner tightly, he rolled them off the tracks. Landing with Amanda on the bottom, he braced himself on his forearms and knees, sheltering her body under his solid frame.

From beneath his broad shoulders, she watched the horrific finale unfold. With a deafening roar, the engine hit its target. The Airstream folded on impact and the Suburban was pulled into the path of destruction. In seconds the mangled wreckage was crushed under the wheels of the mighty locomotive.

The train gradually slowed and finally came to a stop farther down the tracks. Soon police cars and emergency vehicles rushed to the scene, scattering gravel everywhere as they skidded to a stop. Stunned by the gruesome spectacle, a trembling Dotty knelt by the fallen couple. "Amanda. . . Leroy, are you both all right?"

"I'm fine," Amanda squeaked, not entirely sure that she'd survived unscathed.

Above her, Lee heaved a sigh and air rushed from his lungs. Unable to restrain himself any longer, his entire body collapsed against Amanda and his dead weight pinned her to the ground.

"Lee, are you okay?" she asked, but he said nothing. Panic rose in her throat, and the metallic taste of fear filled her mouth. My God, after a hellish night, she couldn't lose him now. "Someone, please help my partner," she pleaded.

With the greatest of care, the emergency medical team removed an unconscious Lee from Amanda's slight frame while the officers assisted her to her feet. "He has a nasty gash on the back of his head, but he's breathing," someone announced.

Anxiously wringing her hands, Amanda stood sentry near her partner and watched the feverish work of the medical team.

Her mother joined the vigil, wrapping a comforting arm around her daughter. "How much can one man endure?" Dotty asked to no one in particular.

An officer intruded upon their space. "Ladies, we need a statement."

Despite her mother's presence, Amanda put urgency ahead of secrecy. Morphing into professional mode, she followed the field section training manual to perfection. "Sir," she said, handing Lee's identification to the officer, "we have an injured federal agent here. He needs to go to the nearest trauma center. Please call the number on the card and say, 'eagle one is a bird in the nest'."

The officer paused to digest the news. "Spooks, huh?"

Amanda offered a faint nod.

"I'll get right on it," he replied as he dashed toward his car radio.

"Spooks," Dotty said in jaw-dropping disbelief. Tugging on her daughter's arm, her questioning eyes demanded the truth. "What exactly do you mean by federal Agent and 'eagle one is a bird in the nest'?"

Amanda sighed in resignation, wondering how she could tap dance around the latest revelation. "Mother, IFF works for the government, and the government has secrets. Remember, I told you my film company sometimes gathers information unobtrusively."

"I know that, darling, but you called Mr. Simpson a federal agent."

"Well, yes, Mother, as you've said yourself, IFF is federal film company and therefore has a talent agency. Hence, you could call Leroy a federal talent agent."

Dotty's scorching look could sear a prime rib roast. "So, now Mr. Simpson is a talent agent. I thought he was a director. Next you'll be telling me he's the leading man in all your dramas. Darling, I know you're hurting, but I think you need to get your story straight."

Amanda's cheeks burned under her mother's inquisition. "Well, in truth, Leroy wears many hats. Mr. Simpson's line of work requires great versatility."

"I just bet," Dotty said, her arms crossed with exasperation. "I'm still waiting for you to clarify the term, 'eagle one is a bird in the nest'."

Amanda's mind raced for an explanation. "Mother, it's just movie company lingo. It means the leader of the documentary film crew is hurt."

Dotty's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Amanda, it sounds like a code to me."

"Oh, Mother, have you being reading your spy novels again?"

"Nice try, Amanda, but don't turn the tables on me." Dotty sliced the air with a dismissive wave. "If you ask me, your documentary film people are a conceited bunch. I think they take themselves far too seriously."

Amanda weighed the merits of candor. After all, Lee told her to tell the truth tonight. "Maybe you're right, Mother, but those arrogant people will provide the best medical care for Leroy, and they'll call upon government agents to investigate tonight's fiasco. Believe me, IFF takes care of its own."

"Well, I'm impressed by the film company's loyalty to its employees," Dotty said, momentarily pacified.

Silently calling a truce, mother and daughter accompanied the stretcher as it rolled Lee toward the ambulance. Reaching for his limp hand, Amanda wondered if she'd ever tell her mother the complete truth about the Agency and Lee Stetson. Maybe the day was fast approaching when she'd have to confess that the man of her dreams was, in fact, an international spy and her mentor in the secret world of espionage.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 - Parker General Hospital**

The click of high heel shoes tapped a staccato beat on the freshly mopped floor as Amanda hurried down the long hospital corridor. Feeling the smooth surface of her soles slip, she slowed the pace to conform with the warning posted on a bright yellow sign - "Caution! Wet Floors."

"It's a little late for caution," she mumbled, not even thinking about the floors. All day she'd ignored the warnings of impending doom. Caution, Amanda - masquerading as Lee Stetson's wife is a potential minefield. Caution, Amanda - your mother may accompany Agnes Ferguson to the revival. Caution, Amanda - towing a trailer during a car chase is bound to end in pain and misery.

How many red alerts did she fail to heed in her careless rush toward disaster? At what point today did she succumb to a moment of insanity and throw caution to the wind?

Coming to a halt in front of Lee's guarded hospital room, she hesitated before speaking to the Agency rookie. "I'm Amanda King. Mr. Melrose is expecting me."

"Yes, ma'am," the somber young man responded. "I'll let him know you're here."

"Thank you." With a deep sigh, she sagged against the wall, waiting breathlessly while the guard disappeared behind the swinging door. It was almost midnight, and she was exhausted.

"Mrs. King, I'm glad you're here." The weary voice of her supervisor pulled her out of her reverie.

"Sir," she said, snapping to attention in a useless attempt to rein in her emotions.

Billy Melrose managed a tired smile. "Please, let's sit down, Amanda." Taking her by the arm, he led the way to a row of chairs in the deserted waiting room. "Are you all right? Are there any injuries to report?"

"I'm fine, sir. Just a few bumps and bruises."

"And how's your mother?"

"She's now safe at home."

"Thank God. From the descriptions I've heard, things could have been much worse." Obviously exhausted, Billy covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. "I'm sure you realize your mother will have to be debriefed tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. I hope she cooperates. Mother will have a few questions for the Agency, too."

"I don't doubt it," Melrose said with a chuckle. "Believe me, we get that a lot."

Amanda wrapped her arms tightly against her body. She couldn't endure one more second of agonizing speculation. "Sir, how's Lee? No one has told me anything."

Billy's dark eyes captured her gaze. "Well, there is some good news. Lee has regained consciousness."

"Oh, that is good news, sir." Noting the absence of relief on his face, she ventured a guess. "I take it there's a 'but' coming next."

"I'm afraid so." The section chief reached for the pack of Tums in his breast pocket and popped a couple of tablets into his mouth. "It seems our Scarecrow has a mild concussion and some bruised ribs. Even worse, he has a number of drugs in his system."

"I suspected as much. When I checked him over, I noticed the needle marks in his arms."

And that's not all," Billy said, pulling out his handkerchief to mop the perspiration from his brow. "Now that's he's awake, Scarecrow's is exhibiting some uncharacteristic behavior. I'm beginning to suspect that Stetson had a conversion experience tonight. Do you think Jeremiah Armstrong converted our Agency agnostic?"

Rendered temporarily mute, Amanda stared at her boss. "Oh, no, sir," she finally answered, "not our Lee. I have the distinct impression he'd rather commune with a stampeding herd of buffalo than succumb to the sales pitch of an overzealous revival preacher."

"Well, that's a relief," Billy said with a gleam in his eye. "However, now Scarecrow is peppering his speech with excessive religious language. Apparently the thugs at the campground really messed with his mind tonight."

Amanda sighed, knowing her actions contributed to his injuries, too. "And I suppose the shake, rattle, and roll of the recreational vehicle also took quite a toll on his mind and body. And then there was the flying wreckage from the train crash. Sir, I was completely responsible for totaling the Suburban and the Airstream and subjecting Lee to a life-threatening situation."

Melrose offered a tight smile in an effort to downplay the evening's fiasco. "The loss of Agency property is the least of my concerns. You saved everyone and that's all that really matters. I'm proud of you, Amanda. Your actions were impressive in dire circumstances, and you executed the emergency procedure perfectly."

"Thank you, sir."

"Try not to worry about Lee," Billy continued. "When the drugs wear off in a few days, he should be fine. However, at the moment, he doesn't know me. Nor does he know Francine or anything about the Agency. He has no idea he was on a case tonight, and in his present condition, he's not ready to hear the truth about his career."

"Sir, what does Lee remember?"

Billy's dark eyes bore into hers. "You, Amanda - Scarecrow remembers you. He also recalls the beating he received from the campground thugs and the punishing ride in the Airstream."

Her shoulders slumped at the revelation. Given tonight's debacle and her partner's nasty temper, she was sure Lee's mind had zeroed in on her inept driving skills and their warring personalities. It was probably clear to him that her flaming enthusiasm could ignite his short fuse faster than the Santa Ana winds could fuel a California wildfire.

Imagining the worst case scenario, she sighed in resignation. "I guess he's mad, huh? Lee was certainly upset when Mother showed up at the revival, and then he was furious when the Airstream got stuck on the railroad tracks. Well, I'm sure he's in no mood to see me."

Mr. Melrose placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. "To the contrary, from the moment Scarecrow opened his eyes, he's been asking for you."

"Sir, I don't understand. If Lee doesn't remember the Agency, then who does he think I am?"

With a nervous cough, Billy met her eyes. "I'm not sure how to tell you, except to give it to you straight. Lee thinks you're Amanda Simpson - his wife."

"Oh my gosh." Moaning softly, she buried her face in both hands. Could things get any more complicated? Blowing out a breath, Amanda voiced her worst fears. "Sir, if Lee thinks I'm his wife, he'll be asking me to take him home. I can't spring a befuddled intelligence operative on my family."

"Don't be upset, Amanda; we'll take care of it." Billy abruptly rose to his feet, apparently ready to take his leave. "The Agency won't allow Scarecrow anywhere near your mother and children. That's a promise."

"But, sir," she protested as Mr. Melrose started down the hallway. "I don't know what to say to Lee."

He paused mid-step and turned to face her once more. "Amanda, I'm counting on you to humor Lee tonight. Certainly you can play along with his misconceptions for a while - just until he remembers he's a single man and proud of it." With a polite nod, he hurried toward the elevators.

Amanda trotted after her boss. "Sir, what if Lee never gets his memory back?"

Pausing in front of the elevators, the weary supervisor exhaled a long breath. "Mrs. King, undoubtedly you realize that Scarecrow is too well versed in national secrets for us to cut him loose on the streets. In his present condition he could put himself, as well as the country, at great risk. I can assure you, we'll keep him under wraps for however long it takes." Melrose punched the down button.

Like a dog with a bone, Amanda refused to drop the subject. "But what if he won't stay put? Lee never does what he's told."

The elevator door slid open, and Billy stepped inside. Turning around, he addressed her once more. "Please, Amanda, just go see him. Married or not, Lee Stetson needs you." As the doors started to close, Mr. Melrose's last words floated to her ears. "Oh, and when you finish pacifying Scarecrow, I'll need you back at the Agency for a debriefing, ASAP."

Amanda's feet seemed riveted to the floor as she watched her boss disappear from sight. What in the world was she going to say to Lee? None of her college acting classes had prepared her for the command performance expected tonight. "You can do this," she coaxed herself. "Just follow his lead."

* * *

><p><strong>You Light up my Life<strong>

"My God, where is my Amanda?"

Lonely and miserable, Lee's eyes tracked the narrow room, lingering for an expectant moment on the closed door. Vivid thoughts of his wife made his throat convulse with intense longing. Good Lord, he feared he'd go stark, raving mad if she didn't walk over the threshold with a bright smile, a big kiss, and a fistful of home grown flowers.

Lee's muddled brain could barely catalog his injuries, let alone grasp the circumstances of tonight's fiasco. He'd lost consciousness somewhere between the obliteration of the camping trailer and the smell of ether in the hospital. All he could conjure up in his abysmal state of nothingness was the assurance of his name, Leroy Simpson, his home on Maplewood Drive, and his family - Amanda, Dotty, Phillip, and Jamie.

"Amanda," he said, whispering her name like a prayer. He was indeed a lucky man, although at the moment, it would be easier to nail "Jell-O" to the wall than remember details of their wedded bliss.

However, Lee didn't need family photographs to picture every indelible nuance about his wife. From her lush chestnut hair to her slender waist and long, graceful legs, she was beauty personified. Maybe his memory was shrouded in darkness, but his thoughts of Amanda could light up the Washington Mall on the fourth of July. God, he needed her, right here, right now.

"Hello, Lee," the familiar raspy voice called from the doorway.

"Alleluia, you're finally here." Rolling his head toward the sound of her voice, he was stunned to see the hesitant look on her face. Where was the smile that sent endorphins coursing through his veins? Amanda's presence was better than any pain killer the doctors could offer. "Hey," he said, sensing her reluctance. "Come here."

Nodding silently, she cautiously traversed the room.

He couldn't believe her odd behavior. "What in God's name is wrong with you? I hope you weren't hurt in the train wreck."

"I'm fine," she said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm just worried about you, Lee, ah, Leroy."

"Where have you been? I thought you'd be here long ago, pampering me with your TLC." Struggling to sit up, he reached for her hand. "Darling, give me a kiss before the night duty nurse interrupts us."

"Dar-ling?" she sputtered. Giving him a wide berth, she quickly grabbed pillows to prop against his back. Then shyly, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek.

"A-man-da, I'm not your doddering uncle." Insulted by her perfunctory gesture, he clamped a hand behind her head. Staring into her wide brown eyes, he closed the distance and planted a searing kiss firmly on her lips.

"Mmm, mmm," she moaned against his mouth, at first resisting the intimacy before surrendering to the moment. Suddenly Amanda's warm, supple lips parted, and she matched his kiss with equal ardor. Her delicate fingers pressed against his chest, slid across his shoulders, and tangled in his hair. "Oh, Lee," she whispered as she reluctantly pulled away.

Breathless from the encounter, he rested his head against the pillow and studied her astonished face. To his utter amazement, she was blushing like a virgin on her wedding night. "Good Lord, Amanda, you seem so ambivalent. Are you glad to see me or not?"

Still looking discombobulated, she touched her fingers to her lips and patted them gently. "I'm definitely thrilled to see you, sweetheart, but I'm concerned about the drugs in your system."

"Hey, the doctors don't anticipate any lingering problems once the drugs wear off." Gingerly adjusting his body, he made room for her on the bed. "Sit with me."

"I really shouldn't . . ." She hesitated for a beat before cautiously settling next to him. "The staff won't approve, and, too, I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll be okay."

A veil of sadness clouded her brown eyes. "I almost lost you," she whimpered in a voice so small, he barely heard the words.

"I know, I know," he soothed, though in reality he didn't know much of anything. To his great relief, she relaxed against his side. Entwining their fingers, he caught her gaze. "Hey, everything will be fine. I'm already on the road to recovery. Praise the Lord."

Her head jerked up at his statement, and she stared at him like he'd grown an extra nose.

"What?" he asked

She shrugged. "Nothing really, I've just never heard you use so much . . . you know . . . religious language. Your usual manner of speech has always been more, ah, colorful."

"Oh, you mean profanity. Maybe I've cleaned up my act. Religion does that to you."

"Yes, I guess religion could reform some bad habits." With an unreadable expression, she stroked the hairs of his forearm, careful not to disturb his intravenous tube. "Lee, tell me what you remember about tonight?"

He sighed, wondering how to begin. "The whole evening is a blur. Other than you, your mother, and the disastrous trailer ride, I have vague memories of your pesky neighbor, a fiery preacher, and ushers from Hell."

"Oh, Lee, you do remember the revival. That's a good start."

"Good is not the word I'd call it," he said, shaking his head to clear away the undercurrent of inner voices. "Some goon worked me over, and now the preacher's sermon is driving me nuts. I keep hearing the same words buzzing in my mind like a swarm of angry bees."

"What kind of words?"

"I mean biblical phrases, like repent and believe, confess brother, damnation and eternal fire. Am I some kind of religious fanatic?"

Amanda reached for his hand. "No, sweetheart - not even close."

"Do I ever preach?"

"Only at me," she said with a laugh. "However, in truth, you are quite vocal, and your strong opinions can be very persuasive."

"Huh?" Bewildered, he struggled with more questions. "The revival business seems unnatural. The threat of divine retribution feels like a noose around my neck. Tell me who I really am."

"Oh, Lee, you're a good, caring person and a loyal American. Don't let a manipulative preacher make you doubt yourself." Amanda leaned over him, absently stroking his brow. "Someone is trying to control your thoughts, but I promise, when the drugs start to wear off, you'll be proud of the work you do."

"Just what is my job? That Melrose character wouldn't tell me anything."

"Sweetheart, it's best for the memories to return in their own time."

His jaw clenched in frustration. "Amanda, you can't seriously expect me to get better in a mind numbing, sterile environment. Even worse, the hospital gives me the creeps with its weird thumps, squeaks, moans and groans . . ." Lee's voice trailed off as his venting took its toll and sapped his strength.

She moved quickly to help him to lie down. "Take it easy, sweetheart." Fussing with the covers, she smoothed the blanket over his chest.

"Amanda, can't you spring me from this joint," he whined, sounding like a petulant child. "I need to see your mother and the kids, and I don't want to miss the boys next baseball game."

"Lee, it's really necessary for you to stay here." Her smile faded and she took a cautious step back.

"Hey, where are you going?" He fumbled for her arm, but she moved beyond his reach. "Amanda, I'm not contagious. I just asked to see our family."

"Lee, you aren't up for visitors, but I promise when the time is appropriate you'll see Mother and the boys." Hesitantly coming toward him again, she reached out a hand to brush the hair from his forehead. "Just try to relax, sweetheart."

Passively accepting her verdict, he basked in the aura of her presence. The rhythmic sounds of her breathing lulled him toward sleep. "See you later," he said as drowsiness enveloped his mind and body.

"Goodnight, Lee." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and grazed her lips across his cheek. Then with a light squeeze of his hand, she tiptoed across the room.

Through veiled eyes, he watched the door close behind his beautiful wife. Succumbing to the lure of sleep, he clung to his last waking thought. "Nothing else matters, not as long as I have Amanda."

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Run and Not Grow Weary, Walk and Not Faint<strong>.**

"Aaah," he yelled, gasping for breath as he practically bolted from the bed. Startled by the nonsensical dream that disturbed his sleep, Lee clutched his perspiration soaked hospital gown with a death grip.

The vivid nightmare completely contradicted the sketchy image he'd pieced together about himself. The vague notions of white picket fences, little league baseball, and idyllic family life didn't fit the man who raced through his dreams. He was no mild-mannered, Bible-toting, man of God. Nor was he just a suburban do-gooder who hung out with the neighbors to talk about rose bushes, grass seed, and kids' braces.

A darker version of Leroy Simpson challenged his dreams. Visions of car chases, gun fights, and kick boxing competed with frightening scenarios of fiery explosions and nuclear weapons. His unconscious thoughts harbored foreign faces, enemy nations, and subversive plots. Somewhere beyond the present test pattern of his mind lay the real man who knew, first hand, a dangerous and destructive world.

Relying on instinct, he quickly dismissed any plan of a lengthy, medically-supervised recovery. The truth of his existence lay outside the confines of the sterile hospital environment. He'd need to jar his memory - the sooner, the better.

Yanking the I.V. from his arm, he slowly slid from the bed, testing his equilibrium as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor. Great, despite his dizziness, he could stand, but where the hell was he going to go in his present attire? Except for the hospital gown, he was as naked as a jaybird.

Maneuvering to the closet, he opened the door to find nothing. He must have been in pretty bad shape when they brought him in by ambulance. There were no articles of clothing stored for his departure. Then, too, he reasoned, someone could be hiding his things to keep him from leaving. Maybe he was the type of guy to blow off a hospital stay.

Feeling the draft around his derriere, he held the flaps of his gown closed with his fist. "Better think of something quick," he chastised himself. "You're not walking down the street with your hospital gown flapping in the breeze."

His mind made up, he carefully padded across the floor, inventing a plan as he went. If he got caught exiting the room, his keepers would probably restrain him to his bed. Leaning into the door, he nudged it open just far enough to spy a suited guard, posted just outside his room. What the hell was this all about? Was the man protecting him or incarcerating him?

Quickly moving away from the door, Lee sagged against the wall, taking short cleansing breaths while he tried to get his bearings. Okay, be reasonable, he admonished himself. He couldn't be a criminal. No one could be married to Amanda and be on the wrong side of the law.

Heading into the bathroom he was delighted to find a door to another room. "Well, well, well, guys," he whispered. "Just how did you miss this obvious exit?"

Testing the handle, he was disappointed to find it locked. "Damn, now what?" Knocking loudly, he waited for a response. There was nothing. Either no one was on the other side, or someone was in there sleeping.

Hearing movement in his assigned room, he quickly leaned over to flush the toilet, thereby legitimizing his reason to be out of bed.

"Yoo-hoo," a high pitched voice yodeled through the door. "Hello, are you in there?"

Oh, no. It was Bertha, the night duty nurse, who was fast becoming the bane of his existence. The mean bruiser bullied him every chance she got.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," the nurse scolded. "Now, you either come out of there or I'm coming in to get you."

"Hold it, hold it, hold it," he warned as she pushed her generous girth against the door. "I'm indisposed, and I want a male nurse to help me."

"Don't be bashful. I've cleaned plenty . . . ." Her voice trailed off as he emerged from the bathroom, his gown securely wrapped around his frame.

"Let's get something straight, Bertha. I have a right to patient dignity. Now get me a male nurse, an orderly, or the damn doctor, but get him in here now! Got it?"

"Sure," she replied, taking a cautious step backward. "But don't expect any backrubs from me, Buster."

"Only in your dreams, Toots." He hoped, to God, he'd scared the living daylights out of the nurse. Watching her hurried departure, he scanned his surroundings and searched for inspiration to attempt another stab at freedom.

He didn't have long to wait. Heavy footsteps rushed toward his door. Thinking fast, Lee grabbed the bedpan and scurried back into the bathroom.

"Okay, Simpson, what's your beef?" Orderly Dexter pounded on the door as his deep masculine voice announced his presence. "I'm coming in."

Lee stood ready, waiting for the perfect moment. Just as a dark crew cut appeared around the door frame, he slammed the bedpan right into the attendant's stomach. The poor fellow doubled over in pain and dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

Energized by a surge of adrenaline, Lee acted on pure instinct, subduing the orderly with a sharp chop to the shoulder. Then peeling off Dexter's scrubs, Lee disrobed and stepped into his new traveling clothes. Shoving his feet into the size twelve shoes, he saw the orderly starting to come around.

Ready to leave, he suddenly remembered money. Searching the scrubs for a pocket, he came up empty. Grabbing Dexter's identification from around his neck, he patted the face of the befuddled victim. "I need some dough, pal. Where's your locker, and what's the combination?"

"Ground floor - wing A, locker 120, combination 56-34-20," came the dazed response from Dexter.

"Sorry, man, but I need your silence." Using his hospital gown, Lee gagged the orderly and walked him into the room. Fumbling with the sheets, he stripped the mattress and motioned for Dexter to lie down. Then twirling the sheets into ropes, he tied his wide-eyed captive to the bedframe.

"If you know what's good for you, Dexter, you'll fade into dreamland. Just one little noise from you, and I'll make you sleep into the next century. Got it, pal?"

Still stunned, the orderly nodded his head in agreement.

Picking up a large arrangement of flowers, Lee held it in front of his face and waltzed out the door. "Good evening," he said as he marched by the guard.

"How's our man?" came the perfunctory reply, more courtesy than concern.

"Sleeping," Lee answered in his best gravelly voice. With a few painful steps, he made it around the corner and staggered toward the backstairs.

Minutes later he found the locker, collected a little folding money, and stumbled through the double doors of the hospital lobby. Quickly hailing a cab, he stated his destination. "Arlington, Virginia," he commanded as he collapsed onto the seat. "4247 Maplewood Drive."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - "Even a Sparrow Finds a Home . . ." ***

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when Amanda dragged through the backdoor of her quiet suburban home. The debriefing had been an ordeal, but at least she had one less pressing requirement on the Agency agenda.

Thankfully, at this ungodly hour, the whole household was sound asleep. Stopping just long enough to pour herself a glass of milk, she made her way up the stairs. If she was lucky she may catch several hours of sleep before the usual family ruckus announced the start of a new day.

Tiptoeing down the hall, Amanda paused outside the boys' room. Given the turmoil of the horrific night, she had to see for herself that the kids returned unscathed from their amusement park adventure. Quickly finishing her milk, she set the glass on the hall table and cautiously breached their domain.

The door squeaked on its hinges as she shoved it open, but her sleeping sons remained oblivious to her presence. Illumined by a desk lamp, she let the peace of the little tableau wash over her frayed nerves.

"Oh, my God," Amanda lamented under her breath. Tonight she nearly sacrificed her cherished role of mother to the dangerous world of espionage. The dichotomy of her two lives was heart wrenching. No Agency manual could teach her how to reconcile the competing demands of parenthood and national security. Nor would Agency training help the civilian mom choose between her immense love for the boys and her fierce devotion to the federal agent who captured her heart and soul?

Craving the reassurance of touch, she braved the obstacle course of blue jeans, team shirts, and video games that cluttered the floor. Leaning over her eldest son's bed, she carefully removed the Walkman headset still framing his youthful face. Turning off the music of the Grateful Dead, she planted a kiss on Phillip's cheek before he could awake and voice his objection to "mushy stuff."

Then turning to her youngest son, she closed a heavy volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica lying open on his chest. Placing the book on his desk, she glanced at the childish scrawl filling the front page of a legal pad. Leave it to her little scholar to get a jump on the anticipated sixth grade, state capitals project. Unlike his brother, Jamie loved intellectual stimulation and eagerly awaited the opening of school in the Fall.

"Hi, Mom," he mumbled as she brushed her lips across his forehead. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, everything is fine," she said with a stab of guilt. Taking a seat on the twin bed, she stroked the blonde hair and breathed in the soapy scent as she watched Jamie fall back to sleep. Then retracing her steps, she exited the boys' room and trekked toward her personal sanctuary.

Silently closing her bedroom door, she didn't bother to turn on the bedside lamp. The glow of the street light was about all her throbbing head could endure. Carefully removing what remained of a blood stained and mud spattered dress, she folded the ruined garment into a small bundle and tucked it inside the closet. So much for her wasted effort to catch Lee's eye with a lovely new outfit.

Overwhelmed by fatigue, Amanda was tempted to skip a shower and just crawl between the sheets. However, the grime from the train wreck was too unpleasant to ignore. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness," she murmured, remembering a favorite old adage of her grandmother.

Every joint seemed to protest as she trudged into her bathroom, fumbled for the light switch, and bent over the tub to adjust the faucets. Hurriedly removing her undergarments, she stepped into the stream of water and allowed the pulsating spray to work its magic. "Aaah," she sighed as she laid her forehead against the cool tile and contemplated the bizarre behavior of her partner. "My God, what have I done?"

Warring thoughts played havoc with her mind as she second-guessed her encounter with an enamored Lee Stetson. Only in his chemically induced stupor could Scarecrow labor under the misconception of marriage to Mrs. King. No doubt, when the truth finally clicked into place, the man would declare himself bamboozled and unleash an avalanche of outrage.

Like a dream too good to be true, her romantic moment with Lee was not based in reality. No matter what intense feelings Amanda personally experienced in the heat of the kiss, her emotional high was spoiled by deception. The facts were indisputable; Scarecrow's romantic behavior was dictated by a brain overwhelmed by drugs.

Despite Mr. Melrose's insistence that she pacify a clueless Lee Stetson, she knew it was inexcusable to reinforce his delusion. Thanks to her little act, he'd been duped. In all likelihood, her partner would consider it a betrayal of trust. "Well, Amanda," she lectured herself, "you have to nip this in the bud. The next time you see Lee, whether intoxicated or stone cold sober, you're going to confess to the whole sham."

Relieved by her firm decision, she made quick work of lathering up and rinsing off every inch of her body. Then toweling off and blow drying her hair, she turned off the light, and padded toward the bed.

In the dark, Amanda managed to shrug into her nightgown, letting the silky fabric fall like a cooling balm over her taut muscles. Sliding under the covers, she laid her weary head on the plump down pillow and relaxed into the luxury of the smooth percale sheets. With a sigh of relief, she gravitated toward the warmth radiating from the far side of the bed. Basking in familiar scents and cozy contours, the secure haven eased her mental torment.

As she finally succumbed to the fuzzy tug of sleep, visions of sandy hair, hazel eyes, and dimpled smiles flashed through her dreams. Cherishing the phantom of the night, she sensed Lee's enduring presence soothe her fragile emotions, still shaken by unbridled terror.

Before the pull of wakefulness could steal her fantasy, Amanda reached for the apparition. Touching a firm prickly cheek, she rested her head on a broad chest as she fought the flight of her lovely dream. Moving closer, her knee grazed a muscular thigh, and her toes shimmied down the smooth plane of a shinbone.

Suddenly the phantom stirred, and a long leg entangled with hers. In an instant, Amanda's sleepy brain registered the reality of sinew, bone, and flesh. "Oh my gosh," she cried as she frantically maneuvered in the dark. Quickly disengaging from the masculine frame, her head bopped the intruder in the chin.

"Ouch," a gravelly voice complained.

"Lee, you scared me to death."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Didn't you see me here when you came home?"

"No." Mentally chastising herself, Amanda shook her head at the latest absurdity. After two years of dealing with the unorthodox federal agent, she should've guessed a drugged Scarecrow could pull a stunt of this magnitude. "Lee, I left you languishing in a hospital bed. How on earth did you get here?"

"Amanda, it's a long story. Can't it wait until morning?" With a low moan, he punched his pillow, apparently making himself more comfortable. "Please, just calm down, so we can both get some sleep."

"I'm afraid sleep is out of the question." At the moment, she was more mortified by their predicament than concerned about his physical well-being. "We have to get you out of here."

"Dammit, why should I abandon my own bed?" he objected, a bit too loudly.

"Sssh, you'll wake my family." Switching on the small table lamp, she watched him shield his eyes with his bare arm.

Clear hurt was etched on his somber features. "Hey, why do you refer to Dotty and the boys as 'your' family? What happened to 'our' family?"

"Lee, we aren't going to play twenty questions. Now move it, buster."

"Amanda, don't be ridiculous." Taking hold of the blanket, he yanked it over his head, effectively cocooning himself in the bed. "Good night," his muffled voice called through the thick layers of covers.

"Oh, no you don't." Pulling back the blankets, she exposed just enough naked upper body to get the complete picture in her mind. "Lee," she squeaked, turning her head away and killing the light. "Where are your clothes?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Once again, he busied himself with whipping the bedding into place. "First I had to steal some surgical scrubs to leave the hospital. And when I finally got here, all my clothes were missing. What the hell's going on?"

"Lee, we need to talk."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Let's talk."

The sound of a door opening down the hall redirected her attention. "Ssh," she whispered, desperately racking her brain for a way to divert a major family misunderstanding.

Footsteps could be heard scuffing along the hardwood floor toward her bedroom. "Amanda, are you awake, dear?" Dotty's groggy voice hovered somewhere near the closed door.

Too late to turn the lock, Amanda slid back into bed and clamped her fingers against Lee's mouth. "Under no circumstances should my mother find you in here," she hissed. "Not a word, got it?" Waiting for him to nod his head in agreement, she removed her hand and then rushed to prop pillows next to his long body. The ploy was ludicrous; attempting to hide Lee Stetson in her bed was like trying to conceal the "Rock of Gibraltar."

There was a light tap on the door. "Amanda," Dotty called again.

Silence reigned as the twosome held a collective breath.

Then, just as she feared, the latch clicked and the door groaned on its hinges. "Oh, Lord, the jig is up," she whispered in panic mode. Whipping her head toward Lee, Amanda gasped when she caught the tail end of his disappearing act. Quietly, he slipped over the edge of the mattress and took refuge on the floor only seconds before the hall light flooded the room.

"Amanda, dear, I thought I heard an argument." Dotty's face was etched with worry as she entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Well, maybe I was mumbling in my sleep," she croaked, trying to gain a semblance of calm. "I've only dozed fitfully since I returned home."

"I'm not surprised," Dotty said, "not after the car chase and the horrific accident - if it was an accident. Honestly, darling, if I didn't know better, I would suspect you were fleeing your mortal enemies."

"Oh, Mother, how could a part-time secretary with a station wagon, a mortgage, and two young boys have deadly enemies?"

Dotty raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, Amanda, if you want to ignore my concern, I won't press the issue tonight." Casting a suspicious glance around the room, she sniffed the air as if following a scent. "Did you buy a new air freshener, dear?"

"Ah, no." Amanda cringed at her mother's observation. There was definitely a hint of men's cologne in the room. Going with the first thing that popped into her mind, she cast the blame on her ex-husband and eldest son. "Maybe Phillip was experimenting with his father's aftershave again. You know, Joe left it here on his last visit. Our adolescent loves to put on a dab and come into my bedroom to prance in front of my full-length mirror."

"Uh huh," Dotty said, clearly not buying it. "So, tell me, how's Leroy?"

Amanda struggled to conceal her alarm. "Oh, Leroy regained consciousness and is improving slowly. The last time I saw him tonight, he looked pretty good to me."

"Oh, that's wonderful news," Dotty said, warming to the topic. "The poor man is certainly a magnet for trouble. I imagine he's grateful that you had his back tonight."

"Yes, Mother, and I was only too glad to watch his back."

Dotty leaned in to give her daughter a kiss. "Well, I'd better let you get some more rest." Rising, she reached over to straighten the covers and reposition the pillows. "Your bed is a mess. I don't know how you sleep in such disarray."

"It's not easy," Amanda said as she conjured up her best innocent smile. "However, under the circumstances I was too tired to care."

"Yes, I understand." Finally exiting the room, Dotty called, "Sweet dreams, darling," as she closed the door behind her.

Listening to her footsteps move down the hall, Amanda exhaled a ragged breath as she prepared her thoughts for the next confrontation.

After a long pause, Lee's head popped-up over the mattress. "Amanda, what's with the cloak and dagger? Why are you hiding me from your mother?"

Scooting from the bed, Amanda pulled on her bathrobe. "We'll have to save our discussion until we're both downstairs. Just wait five minutes, and then meet me in the kitchen. And, oh yes, be sure to throw on your hospital scrubs."

* * *

><p><strong>Guilt and Lamentation<strong>

Amanda anxiously clutched the phone, trying to calm her labored breathing while she waited for the Agency to patch a call through to the section chief.

"Melrose here," Billy said in a low growl laden with sleep.

"Sir, I'm sorry to wake you."

"What have you got, Amanda?"

"Sir, has anyone noticed that Lee is missing from the hospital?"

"Missing? Are you telling me someone nabbed him, right out from under our noses?"

"No sir, Lee must have fled the hospital on his own."

"Stetson got by the Agency guards?" Billy was clearly awake and roaring like a lion. "How the hell did that happen?"

Amanda held the receiver away from her ear. "I don't know, sir."

"Never mind, the Agency will hunt him down. He shouldn't be roaming the streets in his condition."

"Mr. Melrose," she interrupted. "I found Lee at my house and in my bed. Sir, my mother and little boys were sleeping right down the hall."

"Oh, thank God," Billy responded in a much calmer tone. "That's a relief."

"Not to me, sir." Her raspy voice sounded desperate even to her own ears. "Lee assumes he lives here," she continued in a rush. "What if he appears at the breakfast table in his hospital scrubs and calls my mother, 'Mom?' And, sir, what about my children? The boys will think I impulsively brought a stranger home to be their stepfather."

"Amanda, calm down. I promise we'll get Lee out of there before your family wakes up. Now just detain him until I can send a team."

"But, Mr. Melrose. . . ." The sound of a dial tone hummed in her ear as she tapped the receiver. "Sir, hello, are you there? Great, he's hung up."

"Who are you calling in the middle of the night?"

Amanda whirled around to face the tall figure leaning against the refrigerator. "Lee, don't do that."

"Don't do what? I live here, remember?" His hazel eyes blazed with anger.

Determine to come clean, Amanda blurted out the brutal truth. "Lee, I'm sorry to break the news, but you don't live here." The words no sooner flew from her mouth when she regretted her actions. Immediately, her dear friend and colleague staggered backward as if he'd been punched in the jaw.

"You mean . . . we're separated?" Profound sorrow clouded his eyes, and his whole body sagged in defeat. "Why . . . and when?"

"Lee, we're not married," she stated gently but firmly. "We've never been husband and wife."

"Never?" Immediately blood drained from his face and he started to sway.

Grabbing for him, Amanda caught his arm and steered him to a chair before he could pass out on the kitchen floor. "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry," she said, stroking his hair as she hovered over him. "Your mind is confusing things. We're friends, not a married couple."

"Friends, but surely we're more than friends. I know I'm sketchy on the details, but I'm starting to remember trips we've taken as a couple. We traveled through Europe together."

"Yes, but we were in Germany, Austria, and England while on assignment."

His scowl deepened as he probed for answers. "Well, then, what about the couples' cruise?" he challenged. "Surely that was romantic."

"Not exactly, Lee. Actually it was a wedding and honeymoon cruise, but the occasion was just a business trip for the two of us."

"Amanda, people don't go on honeymoon cruises to conduct business." Clearly perturbed, his brow knitted together in confusion. "What about the romantic weekend getaway at the posh country hotel?

In spite of herself, she blushed. "Lee, it wasn't an amorous vacation. We hardly knew each other, so sharing a bed for any reason was out of the question. We argued and you left me alone in the room for the whole night."

Convinced of his warped reality, he stuck to his skewed perceptions. "Well, I'm positive we enjoyed a romantic camping trip. I keep hearing our favorite love song playing over and over in my head."

"Love song?" she croaked. "What favorite love song?"

"You know - that John Denver ditty - 'You fill up my senses like a night in a forest,'" he crooned, in his best baritone. Reaching out a long arm, he tried to pull her closer.

She'd have none of it. Resisting his efforts, she put some distance between them. "Lee, your mind is distorting things."

"Amanda, you act like you're afraid of me. We must be engaged or at least seriously involved."

"Oh, we're involved all right . . ."

"Are we friends with benefits?"

Exasperated, Amanda folded her arms across her breasts, in a defensive posture. "No, not the kind of benefits you're thinking about, Lee."

"Then you must mean our relationship is purely platonic, huh?"

"Yes, pure and simple." Softening her tone, she tried to reassure him. "Lee, once the drugs wear off, our bond will make more sense to you."

"Yeah, sure." Obviously wounded, he refused to look at her. "I guess I'm in for some rude awakenings when I get my memory back. I can't believe I could be so completely wrong about our feelings for each other."

"You're not entirely wrong," she said, running a soothing hand over his shoulder. Pausing, she tried to choose her words carefully. "We share a special relationship. The two of us care deeply about each other, but we've never been romantically involved."

"Well, what the hell is stopping us? We're both single adults, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are."

"Then what's holding us back?"

"It's complicated, Lee."

"Oh," he said as his long fingers took several swipes through his disheveled hair. "I'm starting to get it - there's someone else."

"No!" she quickly countered. "I've been divorced from the boys' father for three years. I don't have a significant other, and I don't believe you're in a serious relationship, either." Moving to his side, she cupped his chin with her hands. "I want to be perfectly clear," she said, forcing him to look at her. "Our friendship is very important to both of us. You need to trust me on that, okay?"

"I do trust you, Amanda, but . . ."

"Lee, stop." She pressed her finger to his lips. "Please, no more speculation. Just sit right there, and I'll make us some coffee."

Before she could act, a knock at the backdoor made him jump. "Who the hell bangs on the door in the middle of the night - the milkman?"

"Stay put." Sliding her hand along his forearm, Amanda hurried to turn the latch. "My gosh, you got here quickly," she whispered to Agents Fielder and Duffy. Stepping back, she motioned them inside.

"We were on our way to watch your house when Billy called," Frank said as he perused the kitchen. Warily he moved toward Lee. "How are you doing, Scarecrow?"

"Scarecrow?" Lee cautiously rose from the chair, his eyes nervously darting between the two men. "Who the hell are you?"

"Take it easy, pal," Fred soothed as if addressing a small child. Approaching slowly, Fielder kept talking while Frank casually moved around the kitchen island. "Billy Melrose would like you to come with us. You remember Billy, don't you Scarecrow?"

"Damn it, Amanda, who are these jerks?"

"Lee, it's okay. You work with Fred and Frank. They're friends and colleagues."

"They're not my friends." Stretching out an arm in clear warning, he began retreating from the intruders. "You people stay away! Amanda, make them leave."

"They're here to help you." Clutching her blue checkered dishtowel, Amanda inched toward him, cautious of his growing agitation. "Please cooperate, Lee. They need to escort you to a safer place."

"No, no way," he yelled, struggling against the agents who rushed to subdue him.

"Lee, don't!" She watched in horror as the situation quickly spiraled out of control.

With a primal growl and a surprising show of strength, Lee fought against his captors. An elbow to Frank's gut and a knee in Fred's groin were all it took to break their hold. Grabbing the kitchen stool, he threw it at Duffy. With a killer left hook, he sent Fielder plunging to the floor.

"Lee, wait!" In a desperate attempt to foil his escape, Amanda put herself directly in his path and threw her arms around his waist. "Please," she pleaded, "you've got to listen."

"Save it," he said, prying her fingers from his body. "Just stay back, do you hear?" With the heart wrenching look of the betrayed, he yanked open the kitchen door and dashed into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>

***Psalm 84:3 - Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 - Into the Darkness **

Lee's adrenaline rush dissipated quickly as he retreated into the dark cover of the sleeping Arlington neighborhood. He shivered violently, his pitiful attire woefully inadequate in the raw drizzle that seeped into his pores. At least a dense fog swallowed his hunched frame, offering him a veil of anonymity.

"Lee, answer me," called the raspy voice of Amanda. Doggedly pursuing him, she repeatedly shouted his name.

Forced to weave in and out among the neat suburban houses, he maneuvered through tall shrubs and behind garages to elude his fantasy wife and their so-called colleagues. If he wasn't so distraught, he would take pride in his clever evasive tactics.

Lee had barely limped three blocks when a pick-up truck screeched to a stop at the end of Maplewood Drive. The driver stuck his weathered face out an open window. "Need a lift, bub?"

"Yeah, I'm game." What the hell, he didn't have the faintest notion where to go. At least now he had a chance to escape Amanda's community before her body guards jumped him again.

Opening the passenger side door, Lee nodded at his rescuers. "Thanks for the ride. It's not a fit night for man or beast."

"You bet," the driver said, proffering his right hand. "I'm Clyde. My sick-kick is Rocky."

"I'm Leroy," Lee supplied as he accepted the callous handshake.

The brawny Rocky grunted a greeting and then shot his partner a sly look.

Lee studied the rough-hewn pair as a seed of doubt took root in his brain. "Ah, where are you headed?"

"Going west to Winchester," Clyde answered as he chewed a wad of tobacco.

"It sounds good to me. Wake me when we get there." Too exhausted to care, Lee slouched in the seat and rubbed the gooseflesh of his bare arms.

Rocky poked an elbow into Lee's side and offered a gap tooth smirk. "I think you missed the hospital by a few miles, buddy."

"What?"

"The duds, man. Were you headed for surgery or did you escape from the mental ward of a hospital?"

Lee swallowed hard. Great, this bruiser was going to give him the third degree. "Oh, you mean the scrubs. I just finished the graveyard shift."

"Were you planning to walk to Winchester?"

"No," Lee growled. "The wife threw me out. I don't give a damn where I go."

The driver threw his head back and laughed. "Consider yourself lucky; at least you escaped with the clothes on your back."

"You got that right." Lee closed his eyes, hoping the conversation was over. His head was pounding, his vision was blurry, and his stomach was doing somersaults. Whatever possessed him to leave the hospital?

As the truck roared along the highway, Lee tried to make sense of his encounter with Amanda. How could he have misjudged their relationship? They weren't married or even engaged. In fact, the one person he trusted tried to have him forcibly removed from the house - her house, not his. She couldn't have been clearer. He didn't belong there. Well, dammit, where did he belong?

My God, now he was venturing into yet another unknown. Before the night was over, his coarse companions may lead him farther astray. Cognizant of his limited options, he gave into his crippling fatigue and lapsed into a nightmarish sleep.

His head was still lolling against the back of the seat when the truck rolled to a jolting stop. Snapping to attention, he braced for the next bombshell.

"End of the line," the driver called as he leaped from the vehicle. Scooting off the seat, Rocky trailed his companion through the same door.

Unmoving, Lee tried to get his bearings. "God, what happens now?"

Suddenly the passenger side door was pulled open and two pairs of arms grabbed his body. Before he could protest, he found himself unceremoniously yanked to the ground.

"Nice to see you again, Simpson," a vaguely familiar voice greeted him. "You're just in time for the Bible lessons."

"What Bible lessons?" Lee asked, knowing full-well there was nothing remotely spiritual about their actions. My God, he'd walked right into a trap. Apparently Amanda had been trying to offer him protection. Someone must have tracked him to her house and then offered him a ride. Now he had to wonder if she was in trouble, too. What kind of dangerous game were they playing? Whatever it was, he was sure Amanda was his loyal teammate. At the very least, she was his friend. He'd bet his life on it.

"Come on, Leroy, you have a date with the Bible study committee."

* * *

><p><strong>Captivity<strong>

The steady patter of raindrops beat against the darkened window glass, slowly pulling Lee back to consciousness. Somewhere in the damp basement, water splattered against the concrete floor, adding more misery to the already dismal surroundings. He had no idea how long he'd been here or if it was day or night.

Lying on a sagging cot, Lee threw off the threadbare blanket and unwound his body from the fetal position. His teeth chattered from the bone chilling cold as he rubbed his exposed arms.

His bleak cell reeked of vomit, a dreadful reminder of his stomach's rebellion against the wretched food he'd been forced to consume upon his arrival. Even the thought of eating was enough to make his throat spasm with dry heaves.

My God, what was going on? Did he still have one coherent thought left in his head? Pulling himself to his numb feet, he wobbled on shaky legs toward the constant drip, drip, drip he heard splattering on the basement floor. His painstaking movements were rewarded with a bruising thud as he bumped into the door. Patting down the wooden barrier, he found the handle and confirmed the obvious - it was locked.

With a sigh, he leaned his head against the wire mesh of the door's tiny window. Now what? At the risk of alerting his captors, should he try to make contact with others who may be imprisoned? He'd already heard shrieks and moans coming from an upstairs room, just before he'd been brutally shoved down the basement stairs.

Finally he took the risk and called into the black void. "Is anyone there?"

"Hello," a shaky female voice called back. "Who are you?"

"I'm Leroy Simpson."

"Oh, Lee, it is you." The mystery voice held a faint inflection of hope.

"Do I know you?"

"It's Aggie," she responded, her voice growing stronger. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me already."

"Not entirely," he said as he ran a hand through his matted hair. "I've been drugged to the gills, so you'll need to fill me in on the details. Why are we here?"

"We met at a revival. I was snooping around the campgrounds while you were investigating Reverend Jeremiah Armstrong and his associates."

"Investigating?" Lee shook his head, trying to shake off his stupor. Maybe that explained his ability to escape the hospital. Possibly he'd been trained in police work. "Am I a detective?" he asked, guessing at his occupation.

"I can't say for sure," Aggie continued. "You were very secretive about your employment."

The revelation baffled him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he dismissed the wild notion that flashed through his mind. Certainly he wasn't a spy. "So you think I do some kind of undercover work?"

"Do you mean undercover or under the covers?" she asked with a faint note of levity in her voice.

Surprised by her innuendo, he wondered if they were romantically involved. God, he hoped he hadn't cheated on Amanda, but, then again, how does one cheat in a strictly platonic relationship? "Aggie, are we involved with each other - you know, as in dating?"

"No, Lee, we're not. I employed some harmless flirting, but you stuck to business. Maybe you prefer younger women."

"Hell, Aggie, as I recall, you're an attractive lady. And who cares about age? At the moment, I can't tell you when I was born."

"Well, that's good to know," she said with a sigh. "I'll save that thought for a better day. Although, to be truthful, I suspect there's someone special in your life."

"Humph," he snorted, recalling his ill-conceived ideas about Amanda and marriage. "Look, Aggie, my love life is a moot point at this juncture. I need to know what we're up against."

"I can tell you with certainty that our captors are some kind of religious extremists." Despite her feigned calm, Aggie's voice quivered with fear. "They want to hasten the end times."

"The end of what?"

"Civilization as we know it." The words rolled off her tongue like a bitter pill. "Some extremists think they can enable God to usher in a new age of righteousness if they annihilate nonbelievers."

"So, you're saying we're doomed if we don't accept their particular set of beliefs?"

"Exactly," Aggie said. "They see themselves as God's righteous soldiers who must convert who they can and abolish the unrepentant sinners. Apparently the United States government is high on their list, especially the politicians who espouse political views contrary to their own."

"My God," Lee said, exhaling a shaky breath. "You make it sound like they're willing to commit mass murder and bring down the government."

"Yes," she choked, "even if it means they have to sacrifice others for the sake of the expected reign of God on earth."

Lee shook his head at the madness. "How do you know all this, Aggie?"

"I suppose it's just an educated guess," she said with a jaded laugh. "Before you arrived to investigate the revival, I'd been listening to Jeremiah Armstrong's apocalyptic sermons for days. I was convinced he or his staff had tried to kill my Aunt Hattie when she challenged their cataclysmic predictions. In truth, I'm not sure whether to blame the preacher, his handlers, or all of them. While the manic Jeremiah was full of bluster, his support team used brute force. His thugs kidnapped both of us."

Lee leaned his weary body against the door, struggling to comprehend the insanity of religious violence. "So, if we were caught probing their operation, why haven't they killed us?"

For a long moment, only Aggie's harsh breathing penetrated the blackness of their prison. "I don't know," she finally said, her raspy voice filling the chasm between them. "I'm afraid the preacher's associates are using some kind of mind control to force innocents to carry out their unique version of an apocalyptic mission."

Pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, Lee tried to ease the throbbing of his head. "What about you? Your memories seem clear."

"Oh, Lee," she said, her voice sounding desperate. "I wish my memory had vanished. The interrogation crew tried to inundate my mind with horrible images and messages, but I fainted before they accomplished their goal. Now I sit in terror, waiting for them to try again and eventually use me for their demented purposes."

Outraged, Lee balled his hands into fists as he helplessly listened to her soft crying. "Take it easy, take it easy. There has to be a way out of this hellhole."

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps interrupted their private exchange.

"What the hell's going on down here," a masculine voice bellowed. A hulking figure moved toward them as the high beam of a flashlight cast weird shadows along the walls of the dungeon.

Hearing a key in the lock, Lee stepped back, waiting for the door to open. He braced himself against the cell wall, wondering what deadly torment lay in store for him.

"It's time for Bible study, Simpson. Say goodbye to your lady friend." A rough hand grabbed his arm and jerked him through the opening.

"Hang on, Aggie," Lee whispered as he passed her cell. "Somehow, we'll get out of this mess."

"Don't count on it, Mac," the jailer snarled as he jammed the barrel of gun in Lee's back. "When we're through turning your mind inside out, you won't have a coherent thought left in your head."

"I'll say a prayer for you, Lee," Aggie cried as they headed up the stairs.

"Thanks," he called into the darkness. "I'm going to need it."

* * *

><p><strong>Indoctrination<br>**  
>"The end is near for the decadent society. The Lord's faithful soldiers will usher in the New Age of Righteousness."<p>

The instructor's monotone droned on with mind numbing madness. The repetitious words blocked any capacity for Lee to think for himself. Awareness of his surroundings paled in comparison to the rhetoric of apocalyptic language.

He sat mesmerized while video images of destruction paraded before his eyes. Calmly he categorized the locations ear marked for demolition: the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, the Jefferson Memorial. On and on, familiar landmarks were blown up before his eyes.

Oddly insulated from the terror, his ability to discern right from wrong seemed to be slipping away. He was trying to fight the gruesome messages, but his resistance was wearing down.

"Maplewood Drive," he whispered in a voice choked with emotion. It was one of his few lucid thoughts, and he clung to the words like a lifeline. Mercifully, his mind wandered to the fleeting memory of tree-lined sidewalks, white picket fences, and a tall brunette housewife. The vision of Amanda's sweet face was the one guiding force left in his narrowing reality.

Shaking his head at the fading hallucination, he wondered who he was kidding. Without knowledge of his past and without Amanda by his side, he had no moral compass to reason beyond the devastation that threatened to control his mind.

Even so, some small part of him tenaciously fought the power of indoctrination. "No," he yelled in defiance, his eyes lowering from the visual calamity. His whole body tensed against the restraints that bound him to a chair.

"Oomph . . ." The wind was knocked from his lungs with a powerful blow to his torso. A sudden jolt of electrical current coursed through his body. The attack left him trembling uncontrollably.

"Repeat it again, Simpson," a harsh voice admonished. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head backward. "I . . . Am . . . A . . . Soldier . . . of . . . The . . . Lord."

"I . . . am . . . a . . . soldier . . . of . . . the . . . Lord," he mumbled in response.

"Say it louder."

"I . . am . . A . . . soldier . . . of . . . The . . . Lord." Lee felt his stubborn resolve slipping away as the words rasped through his raw throat.

He couldn't take much more of the abuse. His head throbbed relentlessly, and his sore ribs made it difficult to breath.

Hour after hour, his world was reduced to damning words and images. Pay attention, he remembered, or you'll be tortured again. Focus now or regret the consequences. Centering his thoughts, he concentrated until everything else was pushed from his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Agency<strong>

Wringing her hands in perpetual motion, Amanda wore a path across the section chief's office. "Sir, if you allow me to attend the revival tonight, I may be able to find Lee."

"Please, Amanda - just sit." Billy gestured toward a chair. "You're picking up Scarecrow's bad habits."

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir." Clasping her hands together in her lap, Amanda tried to quell her anxiety. She'd been restless since Lee's disappearance, so doing nothing was not an acceptable option.

A brief knock on the door signaled the arrival of Francine Desmond. "Any word on Lee yet?"

"No, there's nothing." Billy meticulously closed the blinds as his team waited for an update. "I've been with the Agency director for the past hour," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Dr. Smyth had a few choice words about field section's failure to secure Scarecrow. He's ready to take drastic action."

Startled by the news, Francine's eyebrows disappeared behind her golden bangs. "I hope you don't mean what I think you mean. "

"I'm afraid so," Melrose said, his dark eyes clouded with his own personal agony.

With alarm gnawing in the pit of her stomach, Amanda looked from one to the other. "Sir, why are you both afraid for Lee?"

"Isn't it obvious, even to you?" Francine's biting tone cut to the core, leaving no doubt as to where she assigned the blame for Lee's disappearance.

The message hit home for Amanda. "Oh, no."

In an effort to soften the blow, Billy placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "Something big is about to come down on this city, and we have a whacked-out agent loose on the streets. In his present state of mind, Stetson places the nation at great risk. "Given the circumstances, Dr. Smyth has no choice but to launch a full scale manhunt for Scarecrow. Lee has moved to the top of our most wanted list, dead or alive."

Appalled by Dr. Smyth's extreme order, Amanda rushed to her partner's defense. "But, sir," she protested. "Lee's not really a threat. Until I told him otherwise, he thought he was a suburban husband and father. Just a few hours ago he was raving about John Denver music and little league baseball games. He's not looking for trouble."

Francine rolled her eyes. "God save us from a domesticated Scarecrow. Now I really am frightened."

"Francine, please." Billy silenced his assistant with a scathing look and then turned his attention back to Amanda. "Mrs. King, when Lee is involved, you find it hard to be objective. Despite his weakened state, he packs a lethal punch. Lee not only escaped from the hospital, but he overwhelmed Fielder and Duffy. Dr. Smyth has a duty to stop Scarecrow by any means necessary."

Shocked that the Agency would turn on its best agent, Amanda's outrage poured from her mouth. "Lee overpowered the other agents, because he felt trapped," she defended. "He didn't do anything wrong but run for his life. Why am I the only one left standing in Lee Stetson's corner?"

Billy raised his hands, signaling for calm. "Yes, Scarecrow felt trapped, and like a trapped animal, he's very dangerous. The loss of his memory didn't erase the skills Lee has honed over years of experience. The very prowess he uses to protect the United States can now be turned against the nation."

Amanda took a shuddering breath, bringing her emotions under control. "I would hope that whoever finds Lee will try to talk him back inside."

"That's my hope, too." Billy sank to the sofa, the endless hours of worry evidenced by the slump of his shoulders. "As long as Lee doesn't turn into a runner or use a weapon, our agents will try to throw a net around him."

Francine's anger was palpable. When their boss finished speaking, she pounced. "Amanda, where was your concern for your partner last night? If you'd made accommodations in your home, instead of scaring Lee off, he'd be sitting here right now."

"I did not scare Lee off," Amanda defended, bristling at the indictment. "Fred and Frank botched their end of the plan." Glaring at her accuser, she silently second-guessed her squeamish sensibilities. Maybe she should have allowed Lee to sleep in her bed until morning.

Francine crossed her arms and stood her ground. "Admit it, Amanda. You sacrificed Scarecrow on the altar of Mrs. King's rigid code of propriety."

Stung by the charge, Amanda volleyed back. "Francine, I have young children. Under any other circumstances, I'd have kept Lee in my home. However, my family was present, so it was crucial to factor Mother and the boys into the situation."

"Well, working in the field means putting your partner first." The Desmond daggers shot straight for Amanda's heart. "If you can't set aside your orderly family life for the safety of your teammate then you shouldn't play in the major league."

"Francine, that's enough." Billy glowered at his agent and motioned for silence.

Amanda hung her head, reeling from Francine's reprimand. The zinger had definitely hit its mark. She'd clearly let Lee down. By God, the mistake would never happen again. If she ever got a second chance, she'd follow him into hell before allowing him to go on alone. "Francine, you can't say anything that I haven't already told myself. Believe me; I intend to make it up to Lee."

"I'm afraid that ship has sailed," Francine said with her razor sharp tongue. "Your actions may have already sealed Lee's fate."

"All right, stop it, both of you." Billy pulled his weary frame from the couch. "We don't have the time for your blame game."

The two women nodded an uneasy truce and waited for their boss to formulate a plan.

Melrose hammered his fist in the air. "Okay, let's play the cards we've been dealt. Dr. Smyth has the dogs out searching for Lee, so we'll continue our investigation of Armstrong and his cohorts. Desmond, I want you to accompany Mrs. King to the revival tonight. And I want you to follow her lead. Understood? When it comes to religious practices, Amanda's instincts will be invaluable."

Francine gave an indignant nod. "I guess I can frump it up a bit."

"Amanda," Billy continued, "we don't know exactly who tailed the Airstream last night, so having you present at the service may flush the culprits into the open. Are you up to facing another round?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, poised for action.

"This time, we'll have plenty of back-up." Melrose added, "You won't be able to turn a page in the hymnal without our team noticing the movement."

The office door opened, accompanied by a light knock. "Sorry to interrupt, chief," a flustered Fred Fielder announced in a rush. "We just got an update on Scarecrow."

Snatching the note from Fielder's hand, Billy glanced at the message and then crumpled it in his fist. "I don't believe it. Field section dropped the ball again."

"What does it say, sir?" Amanda held her breath, bracing for the worst case scenario.

Melrose merely shook his head, silently fighting some unnamed demon. Then abruptly he glanced at his team. "Lee was spotted outside a gas station in Winchester, Virginia."

"And what happened?" Francine asked. "Did our team grab him?"

"No! I'm afraid Scarecrow eluded us again."

Amanda's dueling emotions were caught in a quandary. She wanted her partner back in Agency custody, but not if it meant harming him in the process. "Sir, are you saying Lee ran away?"

Billy's hard gaze was an omen for calamity. "It's exactly what we feared. Somehow, Lee managed to get his hands on a gun. When our agents tried to apprehend him, Scarecrow fired on them."

"Oh, my gosh." Amanda felt her knees buckle. Sinking to a chair, she saw Francine look away, pain clearly etched on her face.

"Is anybody hurt?" the blonde finally asked, her professionalism taking a backseat to her anguish.

Billy exhaled a long slow breath. "No one is hurt, yet. However, when our agents catch up to him, Lee Stetson will be dead on the street."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 - Camp Meeting**

Francine steered the drab Agency-issued sedan on the mind numbing journey from Washington D.C. to Paris, Virginia. Apparently the seasoned agent was in no mood for idle girl-talk or speculative shop-talk. After a few exchanges of pertinent information, she withdrew from conversation and opted instead for stoic silence.

Amanda decided to save her breath. Plagued by her frantic thoughts of Lee, she stared out the passenger side window. Each hill and dale of the rolling landscape passed in a blur of lush green fields, crystal clear ponds, and weeping willow trees. Somewhere in the bucolic landscape of stone farmhouses and white rail fences, Scarecrow may be tucked away - concealed from federal agents and hiding from his faithful partner. In his drugged state of amnesia and paranoia, Lee's colleagues and friends were now the enemy. Only God knew what unspeakable acts he may be poised to commit.

"Oh, Lee," she whispered, surprised that she'd uttered his name aloud in front of her relentless critic.

Francine's dour expression softened a bit, and she briefly turned her gaze on Amanda. "Don't underestimate Lee Stetson," she said with a fleeting smile. "Somewhere in his twisted mind, he still knows you care."

Amanda merely nodded, thankful for the kind words from her prickly companion. "Maybe if Lee can stay out-of-sight for another day or two, the drugs will wear off sufficiently for him to regain his memories."

"Or," Francine added, "We may spot Scarecrow skulking around the revival grounds. From what Billy said, Lee's warped mind is obsessed with all things religious."

Amanda cringed. "Well, he employed a lot of God-talk at the hospital until I corrected his perception about himself. Thanks to my efforts, Lee now knows he's not the religious type."

"Just the same, Leroy Simpson may show up looking for his wife," Francine said with a laugh.

Amanda felt a stab of guilt as her mind replayed the kitchen fiasco with Lee. "Unfortunately, Leroy Simpson clearly understands that I'm not his wife. I practically pounded the truth into his brain with a sledge hammer before he fled into the night."

Francine shrugged. "Well, you did what you thought was best for Lee. I won't second-guess your decision this time."

"Thank you," Amanda said with a sigh. "However, you know the Stetson motto - 'the truth is highly overrated'."

"Yes, Lee does prefer living in denial, and we both know he can be very difficult. I imagine his alter ego, Leroy Simpson, could drive a person to drink." Francine's colorful bangles jingled against the steering wheel as she reached for the radio dial. "I think we need a weather report," she added, redirecting their conversation. "A storm front seems to be heading our way."

Amanda turned her attention to the road ahead. Sure enough, darkening thunderheads mushroomed in the evening sky, and a stiff wind swirled through the trees.

Soon a weather bulletin interrupted the country music station. "Lines of severe thunderstorms are moving through the Shenandoah Valley, bringing damaging winds, golfball size hail, and dangerous lightening. Tornadoes have also been sighted, so be prepared to take shelter inside, away from windows. Please stay tuned for weather updates."

"Oh great," Francine said. "It's crazy to sit in a revival tent with tornadoes in the forecast. I don't suppose the preacher will cancel the service and send his loyal fans home."

"Not a chance," Amanda replied. "Reverend Armstrong interprets everything that happens as an act of God. He'll think the Almighty is choreographing the weather to set an appropriate mood for his sermon on the end times."

Francine sighed heavily. "Great, just what we need in a cyclone - a preacher who only cares about the afterlife."

Amanda eyed the threatening sky. "I'm beginning to feel a little like Dorothy in 'The Wizard of Oz.' I hope Scarecrow will find his brain and help us tonight."

Francine rolled her eyes at the storybook reference. "Sorry, Amanda, we're not in Kansas."

"Definitely not, but you'll need to follow the yellow brick road. See the turn up ahead. The campground entrance sign is painted to look like a golden street."

"As in heaven's streets of gold, I suppose. You have to be kidding." A groan emanated from Francine.

Amanda offered a tight smile. "Let's hope we both wake up from this nightmare, very soon."

Francine's jaw clenched with steely concentration as she steered the sedan into the revival parking lot. Already, thick storm clouds layered an ominous sky, and strong squalls whipped through the trees. Dodging fat raindrops, the two women hurried from the vehicle. Hanging onto each other, they bent into the wind as powerful gusts swept them into the flapping revival tent.

* * *

><p><strong>Stand By Me<strong>

**"The wise man built his house upon the rock . . . . And the rains came tumbling down. The rain came down and the floods came up. . . . But the house on the rock stood firm." ***

Belting out a favorite children's Bible song, the choir set an upbeat mood as Amanda ushered her companion into a row of empty seats. Gauging Francine's reaction to the unfamiliar setting, she was relieved to note her colleague's sincere attempt to blend into the crowd.

Tonight the senior agent downplayed her usual flair for high fashion. Neatly attired in white slacks, a yellow jersey and simple sandals, Francine almost mimicked a normal person. However, even with the casual suburban look, her professionally styled golden locks and perfectly manicured nails hinted at a woman of the privileged class and material means.

"Well, isn't this quaint," Francine murmured as she glanced at the bulletin with a twinge of amusement. "Who'd have thought something so innocent would merit a full-scale flap."

"Last night was anything but innocent," Amanda corrected.

A shadow encroached on their aisle seats. "Well, well, well, how nice to see you again, Mrs. Simpson."

Amanda's eyes shot up at the sound of the familiar voice. "Oh, hello, Mr. Abel."

"Where's Leroy tonight?" The perfunctory question lacked any show of concern.

Amanda forced a weak smile. "Ah, Leroy's a bit under the weather. I'll tell him you asked about him, Mr. Abel."

"Llewellyn, please," he countered. Looking passed her, his eyes sought out Francine. "And who has accompanied you tonight, my dear?"

"Oh, forgive my manners. Llewellyn Abel this is my, ah, friend, Francine . . ."

"Francine Redmond," the blonde said, never missing a beat. "It's Frannie to my friends."

"Frannie, it is," Abel crowed, sounding like a rooster at sunrise. His wide grin stretched from ear to ear.

Amanda watched in awe as Francine worked her prey. No one could trick a man into lowering his defenses faster than the Agency queen of seduction.

"Lew, may I call you Lew? Why don't you join us?" Francine's voice positively dripped with her best southern drawl. "Scoot over, darling," she sang to Amanda as they made room for the enchanted Llewellyn.

Abel hesitated. "As much as I'd love to join you ladies, I'm afraid that duty calls. I need to assist Brother Armstrong in his preparations. It takes a lot of willing hands to pull off such a big production."

"Oh, you're a servant of the Lord. What does a godly man like you contribute to the revival?" Francine laid her trap with compliments, couching her words with adoration. "Are you preaching, too?"

Brushing his hands over the front of his suit, Llewellyn shook his head. "No, not tonight. I'm strictly behind the scenes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll finish rounding up the counselors for this evening's service."

"Counselors?" Amanda inquired, scanning the crowd for likely candidates. "Are there trained professionals here?" She watched Mr. Abel take a step back as she met his gaze.

"Ah, not exactly. We select counselors from our very best volunteers. A lot of folks will be redeemed tonight, and they'll need a guiding hand to live new lives."

Amanda saw an opening. "May we be of help? We'd love to be of service."

Abel seemed to weigh the offer. "Well, thank you, ma'am. That's mighty kind. I'll keep you in mind for some other task. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Watching Llewellyn's hulking frame lumber down the aisle and disappear behind the stage, Amanda turned to her colleague. "Francine, that's it."

"What's it?"

"Someone messed with Lee's mind the other night. He was not only beaten up, but he had drugs in his system."

"And?" The senior agent made no attempt to hide her disdain. "That and last week's Washington Post are old news. Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, think about it, Francine. There's no better opportunity to capture a willing audience than to invite the followers for counseling. However, who's to say what the counselors really do to the "saved."

"The who?"

Amanda bit her lip. Francine may hold senior status, but she was still a novice when it came to religious language. "I mean the born again - the redeemed." Seeing the Desmond scowl, she tried another approach. "Reverend Armstrong has an altar call at the end of every service. Lots of people go forward to make their commitments at the railing."

Francine put up a hand to stop the explanation. "I've got it, Amanda. Please spare me the course in Salvation 101."

Amanda swallowed hard. It was going to be a long night, and she didn't want to spend it bumping heads with her testy companion. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." Francine's relaxed her rigid posture and offered a reassuring smile. "Billy's right. You're the expert tonight."

Amanda's eyes widened with utter surprise. Her reluctant colleague had actually paid her a compliment. "Well, thank you." Feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, she hastened to drive her point home. "Maybe we'd better check out Mr. Abel's so-called counselors."

"And where do we find these counselors?"

"I don't know yet."

"You don't know yet?" Francine shook her head with amusement. "I guess we'll just sit here and wait for your intuitive lightning to strike."

It was Amanda's turn to laugh. "No, Francine. We'll wait for the altar call, so we can join the saved."

* * *

><p><strong>Redeemed<strong>

**- "He lead - eth me, he lead - eth me, by his own hand he lead - eth me; his faithful follower I would be, for by his hand he lead - eth me." - **  
><strong>  
>The choir members sang the hymn with gusto as the faithful responded to Brother Armstrong's clarion call. Amanda kept a firm grip on Francine's elbow as she steered the unwilling blonde down the aisle toward the altar. Somehow her colleague had made it through the lengthy service. To her credit, she hadn't uttered one word of protest. Either the senior agent was suffering from profound cultural shock or she'd already developed an appreciation for the lively Gospels tunes.<p>

Tugging Francine along, Amanda observed her pinched cheeks. She looked like a bewildered refugee just immigrating to a strange land. Obviously, Agency training was lacking in all things spiritual. Regardless, this was the unlikely team's ultimate test of improvisational acting. Their charade would have to be convincing if they wanted to be included in the follow-up counseling.

Francine hesitated at the front rail. With a sigh of desperation, she shot Amanda a doubtful look. "What do I do?"

"Just kneel and bow your head." Dropping to her knees, Amanda kept a watchful eye on her companion, praying she wouldn't bolt.

Tonight's crowd was the largest yet, so there were more of the devout to accept the preacher's invitation. Soon hundreds clogged the area around the altar, and assistants stepped forward to whisper words of encouragement to those who answered the call.

"Your sins are forgiven" roared Reverend Armstrong. He had no trouble being heard above the music of the choir and the prayers of his assistants. "You've been born again tonight."

Two powerful hands pressed against Amanda's skull. "Oh, Lord, we thank you for the redeemed soul." Without opening her eyes, she recognized the voice of Llewellyn Abel.

Francine squirmed next to her as Llewellyn moved his hands to her head. "The lost have been found. Praise the Lord." On down the row he went, praying for the converts.

"Right this way, folks." Abel had finished his prayers and was beckoning to several dozen people to follow him.

Leading the way, he herded them like sheep passed the pulpit and behind the stage. The so-called counselors appeared, descending with authority upon the shepherded flock.

Francine leaned closer to her ally. "What's going on?"

"Counseling, I guess." Amanda cast a wary eye on the volunteers. They looked more like prison guards than leaders in pastoral care.

"Ladies, if you'll follow me." Llewellyn motioned for Amanda and Francine to accompany him. "We select some of the faithful for the Kingdom Group. You're among the chosen."

"I don't trust this," Francine murmured to her colleague, "but let's follow his lead and see what he has in mind."

Amanda nodded in agreement. "What happens now, Lew?"

"A meditative walk," he answered, pointing to the outside. Abel's affable demeanor turned decidedly sour as he escorted his charges. Grasping their arms, he guided them around the sound system, out the tent's backstage exit, and through a maze of parked cars.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but another thunderstorm appeared on the horizon. Lightning flashed in the distance and the sky turned an eerie shade of green. Amanda bit her lip, worried about the threatening weather and the Agency back-up team. Would they be capable of following Abel's convoluted exit plan to reach them in time?

Suddenly an engine roared to life and a black sedan pulled alongside the trio. Bubba Bliss poked his head out the driver's window. "Need a ride, folks?"

"Ah, no thanks," Amanda and Francine chorused together.

Abel quickly changed their minds. Pulling a revolver from under his coat, he motioned them inside the vehicle and then climbed in next to Bubba. "Mind your manners, ladies." Grabbing their purses, he rummaged through the contents and confiscated Francine's gun.

Bubba couldn't resist a greeting. "Howdy, Missus Simpson," he said with a toothy grin. "That was sure some chase last night."

"Oh my gosh. Was that you, Bubba? And I thought your family seemed so nice."

"They still are. I'm the rowdy one in the Bliss clan - all for the sake of the Lord, you know."

Amanda defied him with a scolding. "God wouldn't approve of your choices, Bubba."

Francine rolled her eyes. "Spare us the sermon, Mrs. Simpson."

Bubba's demeanor turned grim as he watched Amanda from the rearview mirror. "I was really disappointed to catch your husband poking around the campground with his lady friend. I'm afraid we had to teach him a lesson."

"Shut up, Bliss," Abel commanded. "Just drive."

With a toss of her head, Francine challenged their captors. "You're not going to get away with our abduction. We have associates at the revival tonight. By now, they've most certainly missed us. It won't be long before they catch up."

"Don't count on it, Blondie." Turning his body to peer through the rear window, Abel seemed satisfied. "No one is following our car."

Seated shoulder to shoulder with Francine, Amanda leaned closer. "Wherever we're heading, I bet Lee is already there."

Francine barely nodded. "Stay alert," she whispered. "We may face enemy reinforcements. Let's hope Lee turns out to be our ally."

"Hey, hey," Abel protested as he glared at the women. "Anymore whispering and one of you will have to ride in the trunk."

Sliding away from her colleague, Amanda studied the deteriorating weather. She recognized all the signs of trouble brewing in the western sky. A low-hanging wall of dark bulbous clouds moved toward them and rotating debris swirled along the ground. Then hail the size of golf balls pelted the roadway and their car. "I think a tornado may be forming," she advised. "We should find shelter immediately."

Francine followed her colleague's gaze. "She's right. We're not safe in the car."

"Nice try, ladies." Abel nudged Bubba. "Speed up and make a right turn at the next intersection - if it's a tornado, we'll try to outrun it."

As the ominous shelf of clouds moved closer, Amanda continued to scrutinize the sky. In seconds, she saw it. A funnel cloud dropped into view, spiraling toward them.

Bubba slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop beneath an overpass. "Get out, quick."

Tugging the arms of his captives, Abel pulled them toward the sloping cement wall. "Come on," he yelled as the rushing wind battered the foursome and nearly blew them off their feet. "We'll climb up under the bridge abutment."

Amanda resisted. "No, it's too dangerous. The underpass will act as a wind tunnel."

Francine made the decision for Llewellyn. Kicking him in the shins, she yanked free of his grasp.

Howling in protest, Abel released Amanda's arm.

Clinging together, the two women struggled against the approaching vortex that shrieked like a banshee wailing at impending doom. Staggering toward a deep ditch, they dove for the only possible shelter. Instinctively, Amanda and Francine tucked their heads into their bodies and covered their faces and necks with their arms.

Then, with a deafening roar, the twister touched down, sucking the very breath from their lungs. On an erratic path, the tornado barreled along the stretch of highway and pelted them with flying debris.

When the sound abated and the assault finally ended, Amanda cautiously raised her head. Still a bit dazed, she called to Francine. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," came the weak reply as the bedraggled blonde rose to her feet and picked fragments of rubble from her hair. "I must look a sight."

Amanda peered over the edge of the ditch and surveyed the devastation. "Oh my gosh!"

Nothing had been spared. Trees were twisted and denuded of branches and leaves. The hollowed out shell of a barn looked ready to collapse, and a battered home teetered on it's foundation. Large clumps of yellow insulation littered the countryside, and someone's roof sat by the side of the road.

"Any sign of Bubba and Llewellyn?" Amanda asked as she climbed from her refuge and started walking toward their crushed car. Along the way, she paused to rescue a battered teddy bear that may have been ripped from the arms of a small child.

"Be careful," Francine advised. "We need to find our captors before they find us."

Amanda motioned toward the overpass. "I'm afraid our revival friends may have gone to their just reward."

Francine frowned. "Let's hope not. We need them alive and well, so we can squeeze information from them."

Taking off together, the colleagues picked their way over downed powerlines and endless debris. Signs of life reappeared as other people crawled from wreckage and inspected the damage. Soon life throbbed again as dogs barked, babies cried, and sirens wailed in the distance.

Spying movement in a creek bed, Amanda stared as two men immerged from the stream. "There they are," she cried. "Abel and Bliss can barely walk, but they're alive."

Unarmed, the men didn't resist as Francine took charge. Stunned but compliant, they were in no shape to harm anyone.

Soon headlights appeared on the horizon and Agency vehicles screeched to a stop. As Beaman, Duffy, and Fielder rushed toward them, Francine greeted them with a wry smile. "Robin Hood's band of "Merry Men" are a little late, boys. Fortunately, my capable partner and I have the kidnappers under control."

Fred Fielder doffed his baseball cap and made an exaggerated bow. "We are at your service, fair ladies."

Amanda ignored the bumbling court jester. Turning in a circle, she scanned the countryside once more, searching for any sign of her partner. "I don't suppose Lee was spotted tonight?"

"There was no evidence of Scarecrow," Beaman said. "He was a no-show at the revival."

As the culprits were cuffed and loaded into the nondescript Agency sedan, Amanda detached herself from the conversation. Staring at the last remnants of the stormy sky, she made a sacred vow. By God, if she was granted one more chance to save Lee, she wouldn't waiver for a second. Whatever it took, she'd put her life on the line, even if she had to die trying.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC:<strong>

**Songs: "Wise Man Built His House Upon a Rock," author unknown, "He Leadeth Me," by Joseph H. Gilmore**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 **- **Agency - Lead Me On, Let Me Stand**

Amanda glanced at the bullpen clock and took another swallow of her bitter coffee. It was already ten o'clock in the morning, and she'd banked no real sleep in two days. Clearly her body was running on fumes and nervous energy.

Other than a quick retreat to Maplewood Drive for a change of clothes and a power nap, she'd spent the remainder of last night camped out in the Agency bullpen. Between her own debriefing and the interrogations of Abel and Bliss, she'd obsessively monitored updates on the aftermath of the Paris, Virginia weather emergency.

To her great relief, no deaths were attributed to the tornado, and despite nature's wrath, the revival barely missed a beat during the chaos that swirled around the tent meeting. Puffed up with self-importance, the brazen Brother Armstrong bragged to the television news team that "the Lord protected the righteous people." He also hastened to warn that "the end is fast approaching for the unrepentant and the non-believers."

Regardless of the media's continuous "breaking news", the Agency received no information about Lee Stetson. Amanda's disappointment was palpable. While she clung to the hope of Scarecrow miraculously rising from the rubble to save the day, so far he hadn't surfaced, and his status remained missing and wanted, dead or alive. With time racing on, the chances of getting Lee safely back inside the Agency diminished with each passing hour.

If she could have her way, she'd be out on the streets looking for him, not sitting at her desk, twiddling her thumbs. Instead, all she could do was wait for the interrogation team to complete its job and pray they could crack the case wide open.

Fortunately Llewellyn Abel and Bubba Bliss had sufficiently implicated Jeremiah Armstrong to bring him in for questioning at dawn's first light. However, the Agency still needed to determine if the preacher's fiery prophecies were based on harmless religious rhetoric or a concealed sinister agenda.

Finally Billy charged through the double doors. "My office now," he demanded as he beckoned for Francine and Amanda to enter his inner sanctum. Propping his hip on the corner of his desk, he proceeded to bring them up to speed. "We have managed to break through Armstrong's delusions of grandeur and his stubbornly literal mind."

Barely keeping a lid on her emotions, Amanda's fears spilled over. "Sir," she pleaded as she poured out her questions. "Is there a plot against the government? Is Lee involved? Does Jeremiah Armstrong know Lee's location?"

"Amanda, please," he cautioned.

Seeing her boss's dark scowl, she quickly reined in her nervous ramble.

Managing a tight smile, Billy reverted back to business. "It seems our religious fanatic is not the real culprit here. Armstrong is merely a fundamentalist preacher who takes the Bible literally and then embellishes everything with his own egomania."

"But, sir, how can that be?" Amanda was more than a little surprised. "Reverend Armstrong was blatant in his threats against the government."

"He's definitely gone overboard," Billy agreed, "but apparently Armstrong is nothing more than a zealot of end times' theology. However, the preacher's inflammatory language stirred up religious extremists like Llewellyn Abel and his cohorts. Apparently they want to take advantage of the message and the converts to usher in their own version of doomsday."

Francine quietly absorbed the news. "Just what is Abel plotting?"

Hooking his thumbs into the vest pockets of his three-piece suit, Melrose wore a path across his carpet. "According to some of Abel's accomplices, Llewellyn is using Jeremiah's followers as pawns in his game of terror against the United States government. The conspiracy threatens the lives of national politicians, foreign dignitaries, and the general public. And, too, he plans to target specific faith communities."

"Oh my gosh." Amanda closed her eyes as she processed the dire circumstances.

"To be more precise," Billy added, "Llewellyn Abel hijacked Reverend Armstrong's message of doom. Abel and his gang have coerced, drugged, and brainwashed some of the preacher's followers in order to advance their own end times' scenario. Also, anyone who dared to interfere with their mission was subjected to the same treatment."

Amanda anxiously wrung her hands, desperate to find her partner before the spiraling events claimed his life . "Sir, do you think Lee is tangled in Abel's web?"

The section chief's gaze affirmed it. "Yes, they nabbed Stetson, and he's probably too far under Abel's spell to defy whatever is happening. When we saw him in the hospital, Scarecrow exhibited clear signs of drug induced mind control. If we factor in the physical abuse inflicted on Lee, then surely his normal defenses are too weak to resist the indoctrination."

Just as alarmed as her colleagues, Francine couldn't hide her dismay. "I assume we don't know the target."

"No, we don't," he said with an abrupt shake of his head. "Most likely the focal point is Washington, D.C."

"Well, then," Francine added with biting sarcasm. "That shouldn't be too hard to figure out. There are only hundreds of government buildings, departments, agencies, and monuments to protect in our metropolitan area."

"Yes, and don't forget all the churches, synagogues, temples, and mosques," Amanda reminded.

The telephone interrupted their exchange, and Billy answered it on the second ring. "Melrose, here."

Amanda held her breath, hoping for a pivotal break in the case.

Clamping the phone between his shoulder and chin, Billy braced his arms on the desk. "Good Lord, how did it get this far?" he bellowed. "Yes, of course, we're on it." Slamming down the receiver, the section chief pulled his gun from the bottom drawer. "Call out the troops, Francine," he barked. "The interrogation team just broke Llewellyn Abel. He's singing like a bird."

"And, what's he saying?" Francine demanded.

"Stetson is on his way to Washington, D.C., and he's driving a truckload of explosives."

* * *

><p><strong>Lean On Me When You're Not Strong<strong>

Lee's long fingers clutched the steering wheel with a death-grip as he maneuvered his vehicle through the late morning traffic. Shifting uncomfortably on the vinyl seat of the rental truck, he tried to stretch the kinks from his long limbs. Damn, he was sore.

Despite his discomfort, every nerve tingled with anticipation. He was primed for the big event. God, he loved the adrenaline rush of danger and the thrill of raw power. Even more, he craved the passionate devotion to a cause greater than himself.

Pulling alongside the curb, Lee halted the truck in front of the United States Capitol. "No parking," the sign read, but he knew better. The spot was reserved for him.

He'd been driving for hours - Winchester to Warrenton to Washington, D.C. Glancing at his watch, he confirmed the arrival time. Yep, he was right on the money. Eleven o'clock on the dot, and he was exactly where he needed to be.

Carefully, he rehearsed his instructions, repeating his mantra over and over again. "Park, walk, don't talk. Park, walk, don't talk."

Tentatively, Lee fingered the zipper of his gray jacket that hid the one-way ticket to paradise. The morning was already as hot as blazes, but he had to wear the coat. The garment was part of the plan, and he needed to follow the plan exactly.

Moving toward the Capitol steps, he ignored the voice of an approaching policeman. "Hey, buddy, you can't leave your vehicle in a 'no parking' zone."

"Park, walk, don't talk," he repeated, shutting out the voice behind him. Quickening his pace, Lee's long strides distanced him from the officer. Taking two steps at a time, he slowly threaded his way through the crowd of children exiting the building.

"Stop, stop now," the policeman called as footfalls pounded against the pavement.

"Get down, get down," someone yelled, and the kids started to scream. Lee's eyes darted left and right, and then he saw them coming. Three, four, no five Capitol policemen, all running toward him with their guns aimed and ready.

He paused in confusion. Chaos already threatened the master plan. Should he act now or wait until he was inside the building? Competing voices drowned out his mantra, and he looked around in desperation. There was only one hope, whimpering in his path. With one fluid motion, Lee closed his hand around the arm of a young boy and pulled the kid against his side.

The child looked to be about ten years old. Too big to cry, but he cried nevertheless. "Please mister, let me go."

Woodenly, Lee reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote - the trigger for the cache of explosives in the truck. In the same instant, he tore at his jacket zipper and exposed the bomb secured to his chest.

The crowd gasped in horror, and the police abruptly stopped in their tracks.

Motionless, Lee stood ready to act. He could set off the explosives in the truck or simply flick the switch on the bomb and blow his body to bits, right here, right now. Either way, people would be killed.

Paradise, he reminded himself. By accomplishing today's assignment, he could live in paradise forever. If he followed his instructions precisely then the seat of government would be destroyed and a lot of people would die. Alleluia. Praise to the Almighty!

Ready to sacrifice his life, Lee tightened his grip on the boy and maneuvered toward the Capitol entrance. Entering the building, he was confronted by a turbulent scene. The word, "bomb" rumbled through the panic-stricken crowd. Screams echoed down the wide corridors as tourists pushed and shoved, racing toward exits in order to escape his approach.

Distressed by the commotion, he increased the pressure on the child. With quick and erratic movements, he climbed the stairwell.

Finally reaching the massive rotunda, Lee scanned the ceremonial space that served as a gallery of paintings and sculptures. Twisting and turning his body around the great expanse, he checked his surroundings. In the south wing was the House of Representatives, and in the north wing was the Senate. Yes, he was right where he intended to be, standing under the Capitol dome.

Muffled crying competed for his attention. "Mister, please, let me go."

For a second, he'd forgotten the kid. Now the child was a distraction. Fiercely squeezing the small body, Lee focused on his duty. He'd have to act soon. A crowd was starting to gather around the perimeter. Undoubtedly a contingent of Capitol Police, plain clothed law enforcement and anxious politicians were all plotting against him. Could he hold them off while he rehearsed his moment of glory?

Warring thoughts fought to control his mind. He wasn't sure which internal voice to heed.

'Do it now,' his mind screamed.

'No, wait,' came the competing command.

The opposing thoughts bombarded him until he feared his brain would explode from unrelenting turmoil.

"Lee." His name floated to him from the perimeter of the rotunda.

In the midst of the gathering, a voice called to him. Frantically, he whirled around, first right and then left, swinging the kid from side to side like a limp rag doll. Who the hell was speaking his name?

A slender woman cautiously stepped from the shadows and walked slowly toward him. "Lee, you remember me-Amanda." She held out a hand to him.

Agitated, he waved the remote above his head in warning. A collective gasp echoed through the hall, but the spectators remained rooted in place.

The woman paused in her forward motion and lowered herself to a crouch. "I won't hurt you, Lee," she called, her voice catching at the mere utterance of his name.

He took a threatening step in her direction, testing her resolve, but she didn't flinch.

"Lee, let me help you."

Again he shook his head in protest, angered by her intrusion.

"Help, help," the kid whimpered.

Lee roughly subdued the child, until the boy cried out in pain.

"I have children," she stated calmly. "Two boys - Phillip's twelve, and Jamie's ten. Sometimes you watch their baseball games. You like kids, Lee. You always make sure my sons are safe."

Briefly, he relaxed his hold and glanced at the frightened boy as if seeing him for the first time. What was he doing to the child? She was right; he didn't want to hurt children. But then he remembered; his mission was far more important than any kid. No, he couldn't let the boy go.

"Lee." Amanda's voice caught his attention again. "I want to get a little closer to you, okay?" Dark shimmering hair splayed around the shoulders of her white silky blouse, and bright brown eyes glistened with compassion. Silently she inched toward him, her pale pink skirt dusting the floor as she maintained her submissive posture.

His eyes met hers by their own volition, triggering a lightening flash of recognition. Snatches of memory nudged his consciousness - Russian agents, a train station, a brown package, and an angel of mercy who came to his rescue. Everything swirled around in his brain like a kaleidoscope of colors and images. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, old memories played havoc with his pressing agenda.

Shaking his head to ward off the distraction, he broke his vow of silence. "No!" he yelled. "Get back!"

Immediately she complied, retreating a few steps without breaking eye contact.

A murmur of alarm rippled through the crowd, and his body tensed for action. He had a mission to fulfill. There'd be Hell to pay if he failed. No, he couldn't let this woman sabotage his plans.

"See the bomb," he shouted, pointing to his chest. "One click of the switch and everyone inside the rotunda will be blown to smithereens." Then holding up the remote, he shook it above his head. "One push of the button and a truck load of explosives will blow off the front the Capitol and kill a lot of people outside. Which will it be - the switch or the remote or both?"

"Wait," she pleaded. "Just listen, please. Let me tell you about the Lee I know."

Something in her raspy voice tugged at his heart. Slowly he loosened his fingers from their death grip on the switch. Silently, he nodded his consent.

Trembling almost imperceptibly, she moved to within three feet of him. "You're Lee Stetson," she whispered with a slight quiver in her voice. "You're a good, caring, loyal American. You'd die for your country, but not for a suicide bombing. Lee, you aren't a religious terrorist. Every day you risk your life to save the citizens of the United States."

He stared at her in disbelief. Was she telling the truth? "How the hell do you know me?"

"Lee, we work together as a team, and we're very good friends. I consider you my best friend." Slowly she rose to her feet, holding out her hand as an offering for him to claim. "Please, set the boy free. You can make me your hostage if necessary, but let the child go."

Wavering between compliance and defiance, he stared at her. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew the woman. Her eyes seemed to peer into his soul, and her nearness calmed him to the very core of his being.

"Lee, I want you to trust me."

"Trust," he mumbled. The word struck a chord, and his throat convulsed in recognition. He trusted her to watch his back. She'd stand by him, even in the face of death.

"We've always trusted each other," she continued, "right from the very first moment we met. You've saved my life many times, and now I want to save yours." In measured steps, Amanda moved forward, closing the distance between them. "I'm here for you, Lee." Her hand reached out and touched his arm.

He closed his eyes at the physical sensation. "A-man-da," he choked.

"Everything's going to be fine, sweetheart," she soothed. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

He didn't know if she was talking to the child or to him, but his whole body relaxed. Somehow she'd broken through his defenses.

"Lee, I want you to lay the remote in my hand." She opened her palm, waiting patiently for him to comply.

More memories rushed to consciousness - the Agency, Billy, Francine. Suddenly he could spot his colleagues on the periphery of the crowd. My God, what on earth was he doing? A rush of anguish seized his body, and he shuddered at the close call. Trembling uncontrollably, he laid the trigger in her hand and released the boy. Then with a deep sigh of relief, he watched as the child ran to waiting arms.

Gracefully, Amanda moved to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, almost supporting him with her slight frame. "It's over, Lee. Everyone is safe."

Others soon surrounded them, and ready hands eased Lee to the floor. Amanda went with him, lowering his head into her lap.

"Ma'am, you'll have to leave," he heard an agent say to her. "The bomb squad has to do its work."

"I'm staying," she countered as she touched cool fingers to his feverish brow. "Lee needs me."

And he knew she was right. It took a near fatal calamity to awaken him to his immense blessing. He did need her, more than anybody or anything he'd ever encountered in his entire lonely existence. Amanda King was his faithful partner, his best friend, and his soul mate. Without a doubt, he loved her more than life.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Arlington**

Twilight crept closer as the sun dropped beneath the fading Arlington skyline. Driving along the quiet side streets, Lee parked his Corvette several blocks from the King home. Taking an extra measure of caution, he surveyed the surrounding neighborhood for any unwanted eyes and ears. Given his recent run-in with the Maplewood Drive amateur sleuths, he didn't want to be recognized by Agnes Ferguson or Dotty West.

Determined to fit into suburbia, he pulled a gray sweatshirt over his polo shirt and placed a Bombers' baseball cap on his head. Lee may not be the master of disguise, but with blue jeans and Stan Smith sneakers completing the ensemble, he felt satisfied with his ordinary guy appearance.

Grabbing his car keys and a large black book, he exited the vehicle and started down the sidewalk. Thankfully a slight nip in the air promised a reprieve from the blistering summer heat. Maybe a leisurely walk through the park would clear his mind before he faced Amanda again. They hadn't seen each other since he was released from his second hospital stay.

The Agency had insisted on time off for both of them, but for some strange reason, they'd retreated to their separate lives. While Amanda hovered by his side after the aborted suicide bombing, she'd discretely distanced herself when he was on the mend. Truth be told, they both needed a little space after going through the emotional wringer of a complex case.

The alone time gave him ample opportunity to do some serious thinking. He never dreamed a religious revival would thoroughly test the personal boundaries and professional skills of Scarecrow and Mrs. King. The crazy case threw them together in very intimate and dangerous settings that now challenged their old comfortable roles as partners and friends.

Lee shook his head at the most disconcerting memories. My God, he'd overwhelmed Amanda with a passionate kiss and then offended her conservative nature by invading her bed. Certainly the blame rested with the drugs the scoundrels injected into his body. However, his inappropriate behavior exposed some hidden desires that should never be explored. No wonder things felt incredibly awkward between them.

Hearing a bouncing ball and the shouts of children, Lee trained his eyes on the park's basketball court. Engrossed in a pick-up game, several boys remained oblivious to the evening shadows and the secret agent that encroached upon their space. Deciding to stay and watch, he jerked the brim of his cap lower and took a seat on a nearby bench.

In an effort to appear busy, he opened the conspicuous book he was toting. For the second time in a week, Leatherneck's large print, dog-eared Bible was serving as a prop. On this occasion, Lee was taking the relic to Amanda, on the off-chance she may appreciate a souvenir from their case.

Absently thumbing through the pages, one verse caught his eye. _**"You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." ***_

Lee grunted at the declaration. Hell, he did know the truth, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. In recent days he'd spent countless hours wrestling with his stunning revelation. Without intent, justification or common sense, he'd fallen in love with a housewife turned spy. The indisputable fact of his deep desire had heartbreak written all over it. My God, how did he lose control of his emotions and allow Amanda King to worm her way into his heart?

There was no future for them as a couple. He found out the hard way that a wholesome suburban mom couldn't allow a hardened and hunted intelligence operative into the home she shared with a live-in mother and young children. The more he tried to devise a way through the conundrum, the more impossible it seemed. No, the truth was simple. His secret love for Amanda would have to remain as elusive as peace during a hundred year war.

"Foul," came a cry from across the court.

Lee's head snapped up as a familiar voice startled him from his musings.

"Hey, meathead," the kid yelled again. "Stop shoving my brother. He gets a free throw."

Looking closer, Lee spied Phillip and Jamie King among the players. Fortunately for him, the boys seemed unaware of his presence. Good thing, because he was starting to attend their games with some regularity.

Jamie stood behind the foul line, hesitating to release the ball. Eyeing the basket, he sucked in a big breath and took his shot. The ball sailed through air, hit the backboard, spun around the hoop, and finally dropped through the net. His teammates cheered.

"Good for you, sport," Lee murmured to himself.

Phillip soon took possession of the ball. Dribbling down the far side of the court, he held back the defense with an outstretched arm. Then pivoting right, he threw a bold hook shot and watched in fascination as the ball cleared the net. Phillip leaped into the air, obviously very pleased with himself.

Lee smiled. "Way to go, chief."

The game was close as the teams matched each other, basket for basket. There were a few clashes over calls, but mostly the kids just had fun.

Impatiently checking his watch, Lee wondered when the boys would go home so he could complete his trek to their house. Phillip and Jamie needed to be safely inside before he dared to enter their backyard. Closing the Bible, he was blindsided when the ball suddenly bounded into his lap.

"Sorry, mister."

Lee stood up, surprised to find Jamie standing in front of him, waiting to claim the ball. The kid was so close Lee could reach out and touch him if he was bold enough to risk the unthinkable.

Craning his neck, Jamie looked up at him. "Do I know you?"

"Ah, no, I don't believe so."

The kid's brow wrinkled in concentration. "I guess we haven't met, but you look familiar."

Lee shrugged. "Well, I do enjoy watching the neighborhood sports. I've probably seen some of your little league games."

"Do you have a kid who plays baseball?" Jamie asked as he pointed at Lee's Bombers baseball cap.

"No, I don't. No son. No daughter." He nervously cleared his throat, surprised by the odd tinge of regret in his voice. "Maybe someday," he added, reluctant to advertise his loner status.

The boy's serious face morphed into a smile. "Well, I guess I'll see you around."

"You bet," Lee said, handing over the ball. On sudden impulse, he reached out a hand and ruffled Jamie's golden hair. Somehow the simple gesture provided a connection to the boy he'd watched from afar for two years.

Jamie flashed Lee a grin and turned to leave.

Suddenly the street lights flickered on, and Phillip King appeared by his brother's side. "Hey, how you doing?" he asked, impassively nodding at Lee. "Come on, dog breath. Mom will be mad if we don't get home before dark."

Without a second glance, Phillip and Jamie stepped away and merged into the group of boys heading down the street.

Watching them go, Lee pondered the rush of emotion that shot through him like a lightning bolt. For some unfathomable reason, observing the King boys awakened a sense of paternal pride. Shaking his head at the mere thought of fatherhood, Lee tried to banish the preposterous notion, once and for all. While he recognized his love for Amanda and a growing affection for her sons, there was no rightful place in his life for a family - not even a surrogate family.

* * *

><p><strong>Maplewood Drive<strong>

Amanda was up to her elbows in soapy water as her eyes intermittently scanned the patio for signs of Lee. She knew he'd been released from the hospital two days ago, but he'd made no effort to contact her. Nor had she taken the initiative to connect with him. Oddly, they both needed time to disengage from their roles as Leroy and Amanda Simpson.

Once Lee's memories had started to return, he was appalled by some of the absurd actions he'd employed as the Bible thumper, Leroy. In truth, he could barely look his partner in the eye when his errant behavior came to light. With his agitated state of mind unnerving them both, it seemed best for Amanda to remove herself from the mix while Lee healed.

God knows, she needed the break. As soon as her adrenaline rush had dissipated, and Lee was safely secured in the hospital, her emotional fortitude was crushed beneath the weight of exhaustion. And, too, she was still flummoxed by Scarecrow's blatant amorous advances. Drugs or no drugs, he had breached a personal boundary.

Despite his inappropriate conduct, she couldn't help but smile. Intended or not, the close encounters with Lee Stetson had only whetted her appetite for better things to come.

Shaking her head at her runaway imagination, she reined in her indecent thoughts. Clearly if Scarecrow and Mrs. King were to be sent on overnight assignments in the future, she'd better insist on separate accommodations. No more sharing hotel rooms or Airstreams for the two of them. Maybe he'd never admit it, but she was convinced they possessed a burgeoning mutual attraction.

A light tap on the kitchen window made Amanda jump. "Oh," she squealed as she spotted the inspiration behind her wayward thoughts. Alarmed, she signaled for him to move out-of-sight. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she checked for evidence of her mother and sons. Concluding they were all upstairs, she quickly exited through the backdoor.

Bathed in the glow of the porch light, Lee offered a hesitant smile. "Hi," he said as he removed his baseball cap and tossed it on the picnic table.

"Hi, yourself," she replied shyly. Still feeling unsettled from the revival's fallout, she kept a discrete space between them. "Lee," she said tentatively, "I suspect the doctor ordered you to rest." Her eyes roamed his body, searching for lingering evidence of trauma.

"I'm okay," he said. "I think I'm better off with a friendly face in front of me."

Reaching for his hand, Amanda entwined their fingers and smiled up at him. "Well, you've come to the right place."

"Billy came by the apartment to see me," he said, his demeanor still stilted. "Field Section is back in the good graces of Dr. Smyth, now that all the religious terrorists have been rounded up."

Amanda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "So soon?"

"Yeah, can you believe it?" His face finally relaxed into a grin. "Llewellyn Abel's plot against the government has been averted. The threat is over."

"Thank God. That was a very close call, pal."

Lee nodded, running long fingers through his hair as he struggled for composure. "Amanda, you took some awful risks to save me."

"And I'd do it all over again, Lee." She met his gaze with firm conviction.

He returned her look with equal intensity. "Yeah, I know you would. Thanks."

"You're welcome." She swallowed hard, moved by his raw honesty. Something in his open stance tugged at her heart. He looked so vulnerable standing there that she longed to reach out and comfort him.

"So . . ." she managed to croak, trying to clear the lump in her throat. "What about Jeremiah Armstrong's followers? There must have been a number of converts who were victimized by the religious extremists."

"You got that right," he answered, his stiff Scarecrow persona nudging aside the sensitive Lee. "Fortunately Abel hadn't utilized them yet. He definitely had other government buildings and national monuments targeted."

"Where was he keeping his captives?"

"Agents found them at Abel's hideout in Winchester, Virginia - in an old mansion, left over from the days of railroad barons."

She shuddered at the image of innocent worshipers being abused by terrorists. "Are the victims okay?"

"They will be, once they get the proper medical and psychological care."

"Thank God," she replied, greatly relieved.

Lee paused to study his feet. "Amanda, I hate to tell you this, but Agnes Ferguson was one of the people imprisoned in Abel's dungeon."

"Oh, no. Mr. Melrose informed me of her safe return, but he didn't go into detail. Mother mentioned that Agnes came home, but apparently our neighbor kept silent about her revival experiences. I imagine her captivity was quite harrowing."

"Yeah, that's putting it mildly." Lee carefully averted his gaze from Amanda's probing eyes. "Maybe, I'll give Mrs. Ferguson a call and check with her in a few days. Aggie was a big help to me when I was trying to piece the case together and put my memories back in place."

"Aggie, huh - sounds like you two are good buddies."

"Ah, well, we hit it off, I guess. Look, Amanda, it was just business."

"Oh, right, just business." To her dismay, she once again felt a twinge of jealousy. Men always seemed to take to Agnes. Apparently even Scarecrow felt attracted to her charms.

To his credit, Lee tuned into Amanda's discomfiture. Lowering his head, he captured her gaze, "Hey, just so you know, I have no intention of ever dating Aggie . . . I mean Agnes."

"There are too many nosy neighbors, huh?" Amanda managed a smile as they both laughed. "So, I assume she's been debriefed and been read the riot act. Does she have any idea what you do?"

"No, your neighbor is still in the dark. She understands that I'm in law enforcement, but she doesn't know I'm Agency. Agnes has been well schooled on the subject of protecting national secrets. I think she'll keep her mouth shut. Besides, she got what she wanted. Her aunt came out of the coma; Hattie Henderson was one of Abel's victims, but she'll be just fine."

Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's wonderful news."

"Yeah, case closed." His eyes left hers while he fidgeted in place.

Amanda studied her partner, wondering what else he had on his mind. He was clearly concealing something. "Lee, are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine, I'm just fine," he said, pausing for a beat. "Amanda, I brought you a present."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a souvenir from the case." He pulled the large leather bound book from behind his back.

She smiled in recognition and held out her hand to trace the shiny gold letters that spelled the words, Holy Bible. "Leatherneck doesn't need the scriptures back?"

"No," Lee laughed. "He said the book just gathers dust in his storeroom. The Bible isn't exactly standard equipment for Agency preparedness."

"Well . . . thanks." With a grateful smile, she accepted the offering.

His hand brushed hers as he moved to open the front cover. "Read the inscription inside."

Amanda read the words aloud. "To a match made in Heaven. Yours, Leroy." The sentiment left her groping for words. "Oh, Lee, that's so sweet."

"I thought it fit the occasion . . . you know, our pretending to be married and all." His eyes shifted toward the concrete patio as he avoided her gaze.

Recovering her equilibrium, she decided to push for more insight to his feelings. "The inscription is really something coming from you. After all, you did walk out on our marriage in the first twenty-four hours. As I recall, you wanted it annulled."

"Yeah, our marriage was short but sweet." His hazel eyes flashed with amusement. "I think we met up with serious mother-in-law problems."

Amanda laughed. "Actually my mother was quite enamored with Leroy Simpson. She really wants to invite him to dinner."

"Humph," he snorted. "That better not happen in this life. Can you imagine the interrogation?"

"It wouldn't be pretty, especially since Mother still thinks Leroy looks like the man who rented the Cooperman house. Can you imagine the folly of ever trying to tell her you're Lee Stetson, not Lee Sampson or Leroy Simpson?"

"Ridiculous," they both said together, enjoying the camaraderie of their shared secrets.

The moment of levity quickly faded, and awkwardness returned. "So . . ." she said, rocking back on her heels and pondering where to go from here.

The Scarecrow mask settled back in place. "Ah, regarding the case, a lot of things happened that were definitely out of the ordinary."

"I know that, Lee." She braced herself for the standard Stetson 'end of case' squirming.

His hand nervously raked through his hair. "Amanda, I need to apologize for my outrageous behavior. First I woke up believing we were married, and then I kissed you. Even worse, I had the audacity to show up in your bed."

"Oh, that," she said, cringing at his effort to cast the whole experience in a bad light.

"Well, I hope I didn't get out of line with you. I'm still sketchy on the details." Clearly embarrassed, he coughed into his hand.

She reached to cup his chin, forcing him look at her. "Lee, you were the perfect gentleman . . . well, almost."

"Almost?" Alarm clouded his eyes, and he took a step back.

Amanda inwardly chided herself. Why hadn't she quit while she was ahead. Now she owed him an explanation. "Oh, it was nothing - just a little matter of my getting into bed with a . . . naked man."

"I was naked?" His mouth dropped open in shock.

Now she'd done it. She'd manage to shame the Agency's Lothario. If he was standing here with anybody else, he'd never give the incident a second thought. "Lee, I didn't . . . we didn't . . . it was nothing. You apparently dropped your hospital scrubs on the floor before you got into bed. It was definitely a first for us, but there were . . . ah . . . no consequences."

"Oh, great," he mumbled. "I'm really sorry."

He looked so serious she wanted to laugh. "Lee, you were covered up - at least where it matters. There was nothing more to it. End of discussion, okay?"

"I got it, Amanda." He exhaled a harsh breath and looked at his watch. "Well, I guess it's time for me to hit the road. I'll see you soon." With barely a wave, he started to take his leave.

She watched him retreat, knowing he was just as confused by their intimate encounters as she was. Maybe time would make revelations easier. "Good-bye, Lee. Thanks for the Bible."

He stopped short and turned to face her again. "Amanda, there's one more thing. I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You were brave and smart and . . . " His voice trailed off as he simply stood there for a moment looking at her. "You really are number one in my book."

"Thank you, Lee. Your compliment means a lot to me." She wondered briefly what book he was referring to - certainly not his little black book of girlfriends. Laying the Bible on the picnic table, she closed the distance between them.

Stiffening at her approach, his body seemed chiseled from stone. "What?" he said, his eyes wary of her intent.

Ignoring his discomfiture, she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'm so glad you're safe."

As she started to back away, two strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. Releasing a sigh, Lee tightened his grip and gently rocked her back and forth. Responding in kind, she melted against him, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together.

"There's something you need to know, Amanda," he whispered in a gravelly voice. "Once the dust settled from our case, I had some kind of revelation."

"Are you serious?" she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder and gazing into his eyes.

Lee's brow creased in concentration. "As bizarre as it may sound, the crazy revival and its horrific aftermath awakened a part of me that's been dormant for as long as I can remember. Maybe you'd call it a divine spark, but to me it was just a gut feeling. Well, anyway, something inspired me to see things differently." Lee paused, his expression earnest as he struggled for words.

She nodded her head, waiting breathlessly for him to continue.

He smiled as his fingertips brushed across her cheek. "I've come to the realization that your presence in my life is more than just a fluke. On a cloudy day in 1983, some power greater than mere mortals set an unassuming housewife in my path. That defining moment made me a better agent and, I think, a better man. Amanda, you're a gift, and I don't know what I'd ever do without you."

"Oh, Lee," she choked, her eyes brimming with tears, "I don't know what I'd do without you, either." Tightening their embrace, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of the man who'd awakened depths of emotion and meaning that she'd never imagined possible.

Inevitably the real world intruded upon their private moment. "A-man-da," a voice called from within the house. "Where are you?"

Reluctantly she pulled back and smiled up at him. "I'd better go before Mother comes out here looking for me."

He slowly slid his hands from her sides and grudgingly released his hold. "I'll let myself out."

"See you Monday?" she asked.

"You bet." Squeezing her arm, he grabbed his Bombers' baseball cap and settled it on his head.

"Nice hat," Amanda said, recalling the day she'd offered him a similar cap at the boys' baseball game. "Do you remember the cranky agent at the bake goods booth who adamantly refused to wear a Bombers' hat last year?"

"Ah, yeah, you must mean the guy who dropped a Brownie on his toe." Embarrassed, Lee offered a sheepish grin.

She raised an eyebrow in clear accusation. "I think his exact words were, 'I am not now, nor do I ever intend to be, a Bombers' father'."

"Humph," Lee replied. "Believe me, that guy didn't know what he was missing." Then offering a wink and wave, he quickly turned and fled into the night.

Watching him disappear around the corner of the house, Amanda pressed a hand to her heart and tried to calm the erratic flutter elicited by their encounter. In the last week, he'd awakened unfathomable feelings that she was powerless to deny. She could only hope that similar emotions were stirring in Lee's heart and mind, too. Maybe someday, more secrets could be revealed and love proclaimed.

* * *

><p><strong>Later that Evening<strong>

"Goodnight, Mother." Wearily, Amanda headed for the stairs.

"Goodnight, darling. I'm right behind you. Just let me take the trash out."

Amanda locked the front door and grabbed the banister as she started up the stairs. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. "Oh, no." Turning on her heel, she came face to face with her perplexed mother.

"What in the world was this big old Bible doing on the picnic table?" Dotty fanned the pages, searching for answers.

"Mother, I'll just take that . . . ." Her voice trailed off. It was too late for excuses.

"Well, for goodness sakes," Dotty murmured. "Here's a clue." Adjusting her reading glasses, she read the inside of the cover. "To a match made in Heaven. Yours, Leroy." Dotty gave her daughter a knowing look. "I can't wait to hear your explanation, darling."

Amanda sank down on the bottom step and hugged her knees. "Well, it's nothing, Mother . . . not really."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, well," she answered with a matter-of-fact tone, "I simply stopped at the hospital to check on Leroy, and he gave me the Bible. It's no big deal."

"It sounds like a big deal to me, darling." She read the words again. "To a match made in Heaven."

"I'm sure he meant all three of us. After all, you helped him, too."

"The three of us, indeed," Dotty said with a laugh. "Well, then, I'm sure you won't mind if I hang onto the Bible for you."

"Why?" Amanda was afraid to hear the reason behind her mother's latest inspiration.

Dotty tucked the book under her arm. "Oh, I'll just add it to my collection."

"Collection?"

"Yes, dear. It can go into the closet with the other mystery items."

Without standing, Amanda eased her backside up a couple of steps. "Mystery items? Really, Mother, whatever do you mean?"

"Just that, Amanda. I'm saving all the unexplainable objects that show up in this house." Patting the Bible, she moved toward the closet. "I'll just put it with the football autographed by Sandy Newcomb and the recipe book for strange alcoholic drinks like the 'Bohemian Fling'."

Dotty busied herself making room on the closet shelf. "The Bible will be right here next to the untouched case of imported Baltic Sea Herring you received from some men named Ivan and Demetri. Come to think of it, wasn't there a bottle of ten-proof Vodka that came with the Herring?"

"Mother, I told you I gave the Vodka to a friend at work, and you know, perfectly well, I had logical explanations for all of those items."

"I hope you don't mean the implausible stories you make up." Dotty closed the door and crossed her arms against her chest. "I'll let it rest for now," she continued, "but I suspect all these items have an intriguing connection."

"Mother!" Amanda felt trapped by the penetrating maternal gaze. She'd certainly left a trail of evidence along her two year journey with Lee. How much longer could she expect to keep her inquisitive parent in the dark?

Dotty was relentless in her pursuit of answers. "You know, darling, I'm starting to wake up to the fact that my only child has a secret life. When the Virginia trooper mentioned "spooks," my mind went into overdrive. For heaven's sake, what was he referring to?"

"It's another mystery, Mother."

"Yes, and my daughter's life is a mystery that I'm planning to solve. Believe me, Amanda, I spend sleepless nights composing my top ten theories."

"You have ten theories about my life?"

"Well, not yet. I just scratched off mob member, magician, and swinging single."

"Good Lord, Mother. What else is on your list?"

Dotty held her daughter's gaze. "When you disappear for days at a time, sometimes I imagine you've run away and joined the circus. You always did have aspirations of becoming a trapeze artist."

"Mother, I dreamed of becoming a circus performer when I was eight years old."

"True, and your days of swinging from the upper crossbar on your swing set ended in a nasty fall." Dotty laughed. "Of course, I'm teasing, Amanda. However, there are other possibilities that have merit."

"Oh?"

Do you remember my Uncle Iggy? He was a brush salesman from Topeka who later studied to become a wizard. Sorcerers are in the family gene pool, dear, so that theory is within the realm of possibility. And, too, you loved your Ouija board, so I suspect you've dabbled in fortune telling and séances on occasion.

Amanda held her head in her hands, wondering if her mother was purposely using convoluted logic to drag the truth from her. "Honestly, did you come up with anything credible?"

"No I didn't, not unless you're teaching paranormal psychology at a community college or working as a psychic for the police department. Psychics do help to find missing persons."

Amanda inwardly cringed, fully aware that Dotty was zeroing in on something bigger. "Well, Mother, I am fascinated by paranormal psychology, and, yes, sometimes psychics help law enforcement, but the latter would require me to be a clairvoyant, which I'm not."

"Well, dear, maybe I'm inching closer to the truth." Dotty held a hand to her cheek as she pondered the enigma. "You do have wonderful instincts, Amanda."

"And so do you, Mother."

Dotty brightened. "Well, the only other possibility that comes to mind is rather farfetched. You aren't by any chance a spy, are you?"

"Oh my gosh, a spy?" Amanda prayed for the strength to keep a straight face. "Can you really imagine me as an intelligence operative? How would I ever pass spy school when I won't even allow guns in my house, let alone shoot anybody? Honestly, Mother, that's quite a stretch."

Dotty sighed. "Well, dear, you've always been full of surprises, and I can never be sure if you're dodging my questions."

Leaning over, Amanda gave her mother a good-night kiss and then turned to run up the stairs. Calling over her shoulder, she offered some reassurance. "Please stop worrying; I would never take any job unless it could make you proud of me."

"Darling, you make me proud every single day, even if you do lead a double life."

* * *

><p><strong>The End<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>* John 8:32 "You Will Know the Truth, and the Truth will make you free." Holy Bible - New Revised Standard Version<strong>

**Song References: **"Annie's Song" by John Denver, "Onward Christian Soldiers" by Sabine Baring-Gould, "Amazing Grace" by John Newton, "Just As I Am Without One Plea" by Charlotte Elliot, "My Hope is Built on Nothing Less" by Edward Mote, "Rescue the Perishing" by Fanny J. Crosby, "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" by Elisha A. Hoffman, "He Leadeth Me," by Joseph H. Gilmore. "The Wise Man Built His House Upon a Rock" - Children's Song, author unknown.


End file.
